


Bloom

by andchaos



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M, Or like....Very Stupid narrator, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: Dennis owns a flower shop. Mac's trying to grow a garden.





	1. bamboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please direct all complaints to rose macfoundhispride for daring to have the initial conversation about this with me.
> 
> all knowledge i lack in literally everything related to gardening can be a) buffered by mac being even more enthusiastically idiotic than me, and b) made up with stray info i've garnered from my mother trying desperately, over the years, to shake her stubborn black thumb (to her credit, perseverance will out). thanks to Imagine Me & You for whatever i think i know about florists
> 
> x

By the time Mac got off work and made it over to the house, all the lights were already off and the only noise he could hear — even when he strained his ears and tried — was the faint hum of the ceiling fan. He cracked the master bedroom door, creeping inside so as not to disturb the man currently curled up in a lump beneath the covers on the far side of the bed. Mac stripped down to his underwear and stretched his arms up until his back cracked. Working at a bar was great — free drinks, and he got to hang out with Charlie all day and all he had to do was stand around looking tough — but being on his feet all day was exhausting, and his boyfriend was never awake when he got off since he had to stay there until the early hours every single night.

Mac crawled into the empty half of the bed, sidling until he could feel the other’s body heat. When Mac touched his hip, aiming just to press their bodies together, he rolled over, blinking blearily awake.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Mac whispered.

“Turn over,” Trevor mumbled. His voice was gummy with sleep.

Mac settled his back against Trevor’s chest and nestled back into him. His eyes slipped closed.

Sunlight spilled in from every window as Mac descended the stairs the next morning. He chased the smell of bacon, eager to eat at least a pound of it, but when he got to the kitchen he found Trevor stuffing the last bite of a breakfast sandwich into his mouth. Empty pans littered the stovetop; Mac frowned. Trevor was dressed smartly in a suit, just like always, and he lit up when he noticed Mac standing there.

“Oh, great! You’re finally up,” he said. He kissed Mac on the cheek as he brushed past. “I’ve got to get to work, but help yourself to anything in the fridge. Oh, and would you mind washing the dishes when you’re done? Just, you’ve been leaving them out recently and I just had to fire our maid, so it’s just—”

“No, I…I don’t mind,” Mac lied.

“Great.”

Trevor ducked to kiss him again, this time square on the mouth but unbearably brief. Mac sighed as Trevor pulled away.

“How late are you gonna be?” he asked.

“Don’t wait up for me. Have whatever you want for dinner,” said Trevor dismissively. Mac spun around slowly to watch as he grabbed his briefcase from the living room. “Are you staying here today?”

“Um, probably,” Mac said. He didn’t have a shift today so he had been looking forward to lounging around a bit this morning. In his head, he and Trevor both took the morning off to go swim around in the pool a bit, possibly naked — but it looked like that was off the table now. Mac watched glumly as Trevor did up the cuffs of his jacket sleeves.

“That’s fine,” said Trevor. “Just lock up when you leave.”

He always did, and a spark of defensiveness flickered in his gut like flame.

“I always do!” Mac snapped. “When’s the last time I left here and left your door unlocked?

“Uh, _Saturday_ —”

“Oh my God, once in three years—”

“I don’t want to fight! I do not want to fight,” said Trevor. Mac balled his hands into fists by his sides, his jaw ticking as he watched Trevor take a few deep breaths. “Just — Lock the door. Okay, sweetheart?”

Mac crossed his arms, looking away. He had the morning off, though, and he didn’t want to spend it angry when he had so many other plans to relax. Muscle in his jaw still jumping, Mac swallowed down the last vestiges of his urge to fight and let his arms fall.

“Sure thing,” he said, pasting on a smile. “Bye.”

Trevor melted into a smile too, seeming pleased at the diffusion of a fight.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” he promised.

Mac sighed as soon as Trevor was gone, his shoulders slumping. They hadn’t had a proper night in together for a very long time, and his skin was starting to itch with wanting for it, but he knew how busy Trevor was. The urge to stay mad about it, maybe call him up and fight some more, flickered quietly out as soon as he heard the soft patter of paws traipsing down the stairs. Mac dropped to a crouch just as his boyfriend’s old Australian Shepherd slinked around the corner.

“Hey, buddy,” Mac said, sticking out a hand. “How ya doing, girl?”

Molly leapt at him, tongue lolling out to lick his face, and Mac broke out in a laugh and wrapped his arms around her to keep either one of them from tipping over.

“It’s just you and me again today, huh?” Mac pushed her back onto all fours, rubbing her head when he stood up. “Well, we’ll make the most of it. Let me put something on for me to eat and then I’ll get your breakfast.”

He brought the dog bowl and a plate of bacon and eggs out to the back porch so they could get some sun while they ate. Molly laid down next to his chair. Mac stretched in the light, feeling better already.

Even though he had the entire house to himself, Mac spent the day out in the backyard, mostly working out but jumping in the pool to cool down every now and again. He brought out Molly’s water bowl so she could keep him company, although she ended up jumping in the pool with him and paddling around most of the afternoon instead. When she sat on the steps, her wagging tail flicked water directly into Mac’s face. Laughing, he splashed her back.

Molly really liked him. She tended to follow him around wherever he went when he was the only person home. Trevor was busy a lot, spent most of day at work and sometimes stayed at the office well into the night too. His house was a lot nicer than Mac’s shithole one bedroom that he shared with his best friend (even though Charlie didn’t mind sleeping on the pull-out couch, said he preferred it), so Mac stayed here with most of his free time.

Mac pulled himself out of the pool, swiping his face dry with a towel. He sighed, glancing around the yard, and let the towel pool on his lap. He needed to fill his time with something, he thought dully. When his workout was done, and if he didn’t have work, there wasn’t a whole lot left to do around here. Charlie didn’t have a car to get over here and hang out, which would have been his go-to, and even when he did come over, he said that the quiet and the abundance of property freaked him out, so he never liked to linger.

Mac’s attention strayed to the corner of the yard, which was taking up more and more of his focus as of late. Maybe he was just bored, or he had too much free time, but Trevor had a tiny garden by the back fence and Mac had been spending more and more of his day around it. The gardener who came by to cut the grass and trim the bushes used to tend to this too, but Mac had edged him out of it over time. Now nobody really touched it except for him — a pet project, albeit an incredibly frustrating one.

Mac dug up another weed, only to discover that it was yet another wilted flower and not clovers like he’d suspected. Cursing, he stood up and flung the dead plant into the bucket next to him, spraying dirt everywhere as it arced through the air.

“Goddamn it!” he yelled.

“Woah!”

Mac jumped, spinning around. Trevor was crossing the backyard toward him, a grin stretching across his cheeks. Mac put his hands down.

Somehow, the hour had gotten later than he’d thought; last time he’d looked up the sun had been blazing, but now the entire sky was careening toward the orange-pink hue of sunset. Trevor had stripped himself of his suit jacket sometime since Mac had last seen him, and he was just in shirtsleeves that were rolled up to his forearms. Mac found himself watching the smooth, tan skin of his arms as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Jesus Christ,” said Mac, clutching his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Trevor said blithely.

When he reached him, Trevor ran his hands over Mac’s shoulders, smoothing down the wrinkles in his shirt before ducking to kiss him hello. Mac reached to tangle his fingers in his hair instinctively. He played with the carefully styled strands as they kissed, and even afterwards when Trevor pulled away and peered over his shoulder.

“How’s your, uh, little hobby coming?” he asked.

Mac dropped his hand from his hair and spun around. He felt Trevor’s arms slipping around his middle, and his chin landed on Mac’s shoulder. Mac stroked his wrist lightly where it lay against his stomach.

“It’s really good,” said Mac. “See, that’s where I planted the violets, and I put the yellowy ones next to it because um, Charlie told me they were compliment colors—”

“Why are they dead?”

Mac glanced over his shoulder at him. “Huh?”

“They’re all dead,” said Trevor. He pointed vaguely at a patch of dried-up white flowers.

“No, they aren’t!” said Mac. He pulled out of Trevor’s arms to crouch down next to his garden. “Look, this one’s all wide and open. And this one I just planted yesterday—”

“But they’re wilting, sweetie,” said Trevor. Mac looked up at him, his mouth hung open. “Did you just put these right in the dirt? Where did you get these?”

“What do you mean?” said Mac. He stood up, brushing off his bare knees, but a thin layer of dirt clung determinedly to his skin. “I picked them!”

Trevor frowned.

“You’re supposed to _buy_ flowers,” he said. “From a gardening place, you know? They come in boxes of dirt and have the roots attached? Do you know what I’m talking about? You can’t just pull them out of the ground.”

“Yes, I can,” Mac insisted. He pointed at one of the more vital-looking flowers, a single orchid that stood more or less alone in its patch of dirt. “Look, this one’s fine.”

“It will die in a week, even if you water it,” said Trevor.

“No! No,” said Mac. “I take really good care of my garden! I give it lots of food and water!”

Trevor sighed. He reached out, curling his arms around Mac and tugging him into his chest again. Mac resisted for a moment, but ultimately he succumbed to Trevor’s embrace. He snaked his arms around his waist and nudged a cheek into his shoulder. At some point Mac’s hope for an apology melted into acceptance of comfort, and he nestled into Trevor’s neck.

Trevor stroked his hair in calm, repetitive rhythm. When Mac sighed, pulling back to look at him, Trevor tipped his chin up with two fingers and kissed him. Mac dug his fingers into his back and leaned up the scant couple inches difference between them to kiss back even harder. Trevor rubbed his sides through his shirt.

“Have you eaten?” he asked. Mac’s nose brushed against his when he shook his head. Trevor smiled, running a hand through Mac’s hair. “Where do you want to go to dinner? I’m craving sushi, but I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. What are you feeling? Huh?”

Mac glanced anxiously down at his garden. He had wanted to sprinkle some fertilizer over it before he packed it in for the day, but…

“I need a shower,” he said. His shoulders slumped. “I think I want Indian.”

“Okay, gorgeous,” said Trevor. He beamed at Mac, the dizzying kind of smile that made him forget he’d wanted to stay and finish messing in the dirt, especially when combined with the hand on his ass and the promise of an expensive meal soon. Mac was sure he could squeeze a few cocktails into the deal, too. “Wherever you want. How about I join you in that shower, huh? It’s been a long day.”

Mac shrugged. He let Trevor guide him back inside.

Mac lay awake that night, long after Trevor had fallen asleep beside him. After dinner, Trevor had gone to finish up some work in his home office. Mac played video games online with Charlie, chatting with him over their headsets as they slaughtered room after room of Nazi zombies together. Charlie had tried to coax him into coming home so they could get blitzed and binge all the Lethal Weapons they owned again, but before Mac could get entirely swayed by the temptation, Trevor had come into the room and closed the borrowed laptop sitting on Mac’s thighs before he could even sign off. He’d pushed everything off the bed, apparently not giving a shit about potential damages that any of the equipment might incur when it hit the floor, so that he could pull Mac over into his lap.

Trevor usually fell asleep right after they did it, and tonight was no different. After about ten minutes, Mac retracted his arm from around Trevor’s waist and rolled over onto his back, blinking at the ceiling through the dark.

He checked his phone, plugged in to charge on the bedside table, but he had no new messages. Of course he didn’t want anything bad to _actually_ happen to Charlie, but he was kind of hoping that Charlie might have texted with some kind of extremely dire emergency so that Mac would have to rush home to save him. Normally he loved Trevor’s bed — it was springy but soft, not memory foam but it curled around the shape of his body anyway. Great to fuck on and cloudlike to fall asleep on top of — but for some reason tonight, as with many nights recently if he was being honest, he was itching with the desire to go back home.

He trembled when Trevor reached out, his hand skating across Mac’s bare stomach in his sleep; Mac wanted to get out of this bed, run home in the dark and be somewhere _alone_. Trevor’s house was safer and quieter than his apartment, but that just made it worse, somehow.

Searching fingers trailed along Mac’s waist, and Trevor huffed in his sleep, pulling himself closer to Mac beneath the covers. Mac sighed. He shifted to accommodate for Trevor pressing up against his side.

Tomorrow, he thought. Trevor was leaving around noon, and he would be gone for the whole weekend. He had a conference to attend in New York, some kind of business association soiree or seminar or whatever — Mac found all of the details incredibly boring so he never tuned in well enough to remember them. The important thing was that Mac would have plenty of time to go back to what he really wanted to be doing: Tending to his garden, making up for the lost time he’d missed out on today because he’d let Trevor lure him away to a nice dinner and a better lay. He only hoped his plants wouldn’t starve in the span of a day’s neglect.

Although, he thought sulkily, if Trevor was right than it wouldn’t really matter. His flowers were all doomed to die anyway, because he had picked them out of the ground first. He had destroyed their roots and now they didn’t know how to make as good of a home in a new environment without the sturdy foundation that they were used to, and maybe that was on him.

Maybe that was his whole problem, he thought suddenly; he’d uprooted them from the home they knew. He’d gotten them from the side of the road — he and Charlie had been driving a stolen golf cart for unrelated reasons when he’d spotted this newest batch sprouting in the grass. Charlie was driving; Mac had yelled out, “Stop the goddamn car, Charlie!” and leapt out to gather the plants growing beside of a small copse of trees. They had been near the Schuylkill then. The ground was probably soaked in sewage and dirty water and bad nutrients.

 _That_ was the issue, Mac realized, sitting upright in bed. His heart was hammering. The flowers weren’t used to such refined care as Mac was determined to give them. He was using shitty plants, _trash_ flowers — they had grown from disgusting runoff water and that’s what they were used to now. He had inundated them with care, smothered them like Charlie did to baby birds he sometimes caught, when he particularly liked them. Mac’s collection of irises, daisies, and the other perennials he hadn’t been able to successfully Google the names of weren’t used to the expensive fertilizer and mulch that Mac kept adding to Trevor’s grocery list every now and then. His flowers were Lady Di getting plucked from the streets to become royalty, and sometimes Lady Di — died. She couldn’t handle all that new love and attention and riches, and she died. Mac’s garden was British royalty. The flowers couldn’t deal with it and crashed their cars themselves.

Mac lay back down, nestling into his side of the bed and pulling the sheets tighter up around himself. A solution was beginning to bubble up to the forefront of his mind, growing clearer with each passing minute. He knew exactly how to get quality plants that would thus flourish in his quality garden; Trevor had said it himself, he couldn’t just go around picking any old random flower off the streets.

In his sleep, Trevor nestled into Mac’s shoulder, his arm sliding over Mac’s bare waist. Mac was beginning to feel a lot better now that he had a solution in sight, and he thought he might be calming down enough to decompress. He turned over, fitting himself up against the long line of Trevor’s body and squeezing the forearm still folded over his torso. Trevor mumbled something in his sleep. His nose pressed into the back of Mac’s hair.

Mac closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. He had a few things to do tomorrow before work, after all.

Mac woke up to lips on his back and a hand slipping down the front of his underwear.

His morning, thus, took a short detour — or two, counting the second round in the shower when they were cleaning up — but he was still dressed and downstairs before ten. Admittedly, he loathed being woken up early but he didn’t mind it when he had to be in to work at four and he had errands to run, and possibly a nap to take, beforehand.

So he didn’t begrudge Trevor waking him to mess around this morning, even though getting up before noon probably counted as the eighth deadly sin or something. Mac hauled Molly up into his lap while he sat at the kitchen counter, watching Trevor make them both egg and cheese sandwiches; Mac had been banned from cooking for the two of them ever since he’d set off a smoke detector three mornings in a row. Trevor didn’t care what he did on his own as long as it was cleaned up by the time he got home, but he said that didn’t want to be around to see the damages.

Molly wiggled in his lap, and Mac pet down her back, trying to calm her. She kept trying to slurp his orange juice and he laughed, holding her back from the glass. He squeezed her tighter to his chest to stop her from squirming herself right onto her back.

“Put Molly down and come grab a plate,” said Trevor.

Mac set her down on the floor and stood up, stepping carefully around her wagging tail and the paws slapping at his leg. Mac pressed his lips to Trevor’s cheek and grabbed his plate.

They had a quiet breakfast together before Trevor left for work, kissing Mac goodbye at the door and promising to see him again sometime soon this week. Mac shut the door behind him and trailed back upstairs to get dressed — it was already a quarter past eleven, and he still had some research to do.

One benefit of dating Trevor: He always had all of the latest technology, and high-speed internet to go with his shiny state-of-the-art laptop. Mac threw himself down on the bed and set to Googling.

In twenty minutes he was dressed and grabbing spare keys from the bowl by the door. The second benefit of dating Trevor: There were always fancy cars in the driveway, and Mac had full access to take whatever was available whenever he wanted. Or at least, nobody noticed or tried to stop him when he did.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Mac promised, crouching down by the front door to rub Molly’s head. “Be good, okay? I’ll be back to drop the car off before work and I’ll give you lots of treats if you behave.”

The bedroom’s lock didn’t work due to a small incident involving Mac’s back and getting thrown up against it a few months ago, and they hadn’t gotten around to calling a repair man about it yet. Molly sometimes had a tendency to fling herself at it full force until it burst open, and then she went rooting around in the drawers and ate half of Mac’s weed. Well, it had happened one time. But nobody was eager for a repeat.

He took the Rolls Royce, aware that driving a car like that into South Philly was probably a bad idea and not giving even a little bit of a shit regardless. He had forgotten to snag one of Trevor’s credit cards before he left for the day, so he was aiming for a combination of close and cheap above anything else. Thus, South Philly was the place to go.

The store he pulled up to was cute, admittedly. Set right on the corner of the street and just one story, it was a relatively small but product-crowded shop, at least as far as Mac could see through the big glass windows. He parked at the meter right out front and slipped a quarter in. He’d be in and out, no problem.

Flowers spilled from every corner, flooding Mac’s senses with hundreds of differing scents the moment that he stepped inside. A bell tinkled above the door, and the man standing behind the register glanced up at him. Mac ignored his stare, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and setting off in a slow walk around the perimeter of the shop, perusing every blossom.

His plan was flawless: Trevor had been right, after all, and he couldn’t just go around pulling shitty plants from the side of the road and expecting them to bloom. If he wanted to curate a top-quality garden, he was going to have to use flowers that were already used to being plucked, cut, and made to thrive outside the confines of their natural habitat. This way they would be used to making do in new environments, and so they could easily transplant to Mac’s garden. Plus, he could be sure they were quality flowers since they were worth selling in the first place. It was perfect.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, though; if some were better to this end than others, or what might look good side by side in the ground. He was going to need help.

Mac approached the cashier by the register and cleared his throat. The guy looked up, his eyebrows jumping up his forehead.

“Hey,” said Mac. “Are you, like, an expert on all this shit? Or is your boss in who can help me or whatever?”

He waved his hand around vaguely, indicating the entirety of the shop. The guy behind the counter smiled, something like disbelief on his face.

“Um — yeah,” he said, jolting into motion. He nodded, slightly, and Mac watched the curls on his head bob as he flicked the magazine he’d been reading closed and straightened up. “I’m Dennis, this is my shop. How can I help?”

Mac paused, suddenly stuck on the smile being leveled at him. It was just etiquette, he guessed, but he couldn’t help flicking his gaze over the guy’s face. He was pretty, Mac could admit that. Pretty in a nonthreatening, non-striking way. Mac licked his lips. Dennis’s grin grew like the edges were tendrils in lush soil, and Mac blinked, shaking his head to get it back on straight. It wasn’t his fault if Dennis had a pretty smile. Not his fault at all.

Mac cleared his throat.

“I’m trying to fix my garden,” he began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "bamboo" by hinds  
> [x](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/186355418985)


	2. blue spark in a grey sky

“So let me get this straight.” Dennis pointed a finger at him across the counter. “You keep plucking up flowers that you find on the side of the road, or that you’ve dug out from other people’s front yards, or, like, stolen from centerpieces—”

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Mac smirked. “It’s brilliant, right?”

“Um…Right,” said Dennis. “Except, they keep dying really fast. So now you want to…?”

“Well, I figured, you know, why would I buy something when I can get for free? It’s a total waste of money.” Mac rolled his eyes. “But I think it’s time to a different tack. ‘Cause like, I’ve been at this thing for three months and it just has _not_ been working out. But I figure, your website said you had the freshest, nicest picks so I thought, well — Maybe you could help.”

Dennis smiled at him for a long few seconds, lips pressed together like he was refraining from saying something. Mac frowned, cocking his head. Dennis laughed.

“Okay, I actually think I can help you out,” said Dennis. He pushed away from the counter, waving for Mac to follow him as he set off toward the front of the store. “These babies are year-round. It’s a little bit harder to get them to sprout, but they’ll stay kicking forever if you get them to full bloom without killing them. The good news is that you’re getting them fully grown so you can skip that step. What kind of flowers are you looking for?”

“Oh! Um…I guess I haven’t really thought about it,” Mac said. He clapped his hands together, scanning the row of pots in front of him. “Oh, this one’s pretty.”

He grabbed a container and held it up to examine it, rosy petals spilling out over the top of the plastic.

“You like the hyacinths?” Dennis asked, stepping closer to pluck one out by the stem and lift it to his nose.

“Gesundheit.”

Dennis blinked at him.

“Um, okay,” he said. “Well, as I was saying. This is a really good choice, man. They’re perennials, so they’re gonna die off when the autumn comes, but the good part for you, I think, is that they grow back automatically in the spring. Or…were you looking for something that stays alive all through the winter too? Because that’s gonna be a little harder to—”

“What? Oh, I don’t give a shit about any of that,” said Mac. “I just thought the pink ones would look good next to my sunflowers.”

“Sunflowers?” Dennis raised his eyebrows. “You grew sunflowers?”

“Grew them?” said Mac. “What are you talking about? They pop up all over the fucking place, you just pluck some from different parts of the yard and go put it where you want it.”

Dennis squinted at him. “You’re talking about sunflowers? Like the twenty feet tall yellow monsters that completely steal the thunder from everything around it? The behemoths? I mean it’s like, _calm down_ and leave some sun for some other—”

“What? Monsters?” Mac shook his head. He put the hyacinths back on the shelf. “No, dude, they’re like six inches long.”

“Are you…?” Dennis ducked closer. “Are you talking about dandelions?”

Mac frowned. “What are those?”

Dennis opened his mouth several times like he had something relevant to say. Mac waited patiently for it, but at length Dennis only smiled, looking strained, and gestured for Mac to walk with him again.

“Well, I still recommend you stick to perennials but if you don’t, um…care about what type you’re getting, that opens up a significant number of new avenues,” said Dennis. “So why don’t you just have a walk around and let me know if you see anything you like, and we can work from there.”

Mac’s brow creased.

“What if I pick one out that doesn’t come back up next year?” he asked.

“Trust me, uh—”

“Oh. Mac,” he said quickly, pointing at his chest.

“Trust me, Mac,” he said, splitting into an easy smile. “Just see what catches your eye and I can figure something out that fits what you need from there. Okay?”

He shot him another smile. As he turned away, Mac called, “Wait!” and Dennis glanced back at him. Mac’s hand, shot out automatically to grab his arm but stopped a few inches back at the last second, dropped down by his thigh.

“Uh, if you go back over there I’ll just have to grab your attention every other minute and walk back and forth a million times to show you plants,” Mac said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe you can walk around with me? If you’re not too busy.”

Dennis burst out laughing.

“Are you serious?” he asked. “Look around, bro, no one comes in here. Sure, I’ll walk you around.”

Mac set to work studying flower pots. He could feel Dennis trailing behind him, saying nothing. Mac poked at one of the leaves on yet another plant without picking it up.

“So…What are you growing these for, exactly?” Dennis asked. His fingers drummed against the table. “Are you just into gardening, or are you trying to maybe plant some to give in a bouquet…? ‘Cause what looks good in the dirt, or what goes together aesthetically, isn’t always the message you want to send when you’re giving somebody flowers.”

Mac glanced at him.

“What?” he asked distractedly, thumbing at an ugly, gnarled little stem and hissing in pain when he caught on a thorn. “Ow, son of a bitch! No, I just like gardening. I needed a hobby, you know? For when I’m not working. It gets _super_ boring at Trevor’s house when he’s not there.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, shifting closer.

“Who’s Trevor?” he asked.

“My boyfriend,” Mac murmured. He had already returned his attention to the plant in front of him. “Hey, this shape is cool. Does this one come in anything other than white?”

They kept trailing slowly through the flower shop together. Mac sniffed at a tuft of daisies and was just leaning back when he noticed Dennis leaning against the counter a little ways away, thumbing at his phone with his brow furrowed.

Mac cleared his throat.

“Um, what about this one?” he asked, grabbing a bunch of deep purple flowers at random and whirling around with it. The color was so inky, he’d bet they felt funny too. Silky smooth or something — but before he could poke at a petal, Dennis came closer and Mac’s attention dragged away as he looked up to see Dennis examining the sticker.

“Violets,” he said. “Yeah, man. Good eye, those are gorgeous in the ground. These are actually pansies, though. They’re a little different. Come here.”

He set the pot back on the shelf and grabbed one a couple rows over that, as far as Mac could tell, looked exactly the same as the one Dennis just rejected. He blinked, and was still trying to suss out the difference between them when Dennis pushed it into Mac’s hands.

Mac pulled it closer to inspect. Strangely, his first thought was that he had to remember to run his dress shirts through the laundry before Friday. He and Trevor had their three-and-a-half-year anniversary and he was determined that everything should go perfect. Ideally, Mac wanted to celebrate these milestones more often but they’d compromised down to every six months. Mac wasn’t going to mess up a rare occasion like this.

He wondered if he should bring Trevor flowers. He thought he’d like to receive some himself but he would settle for being the one who gives, as long as romance got injected _somehow_. Not that Trevor never treated him — he did, often — but still. Getting flowers could be nice.

“I love these,” Dennis said. He reached to rub a petal between his fingers and smiled, gaze flicking over to Mac’s. “I just like the way it smells.”

Mac held his gaze for what felt to him like a beat too long before he dropped it.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He leaned in closer to see what he meant, and found that Dennis was right. “Um, I don’t know. They’re kind of…small.”

Dennis stepped back, his brows pulling together.

“How big were you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Mac fidgeted, and he could feel color spilling into his cheeks against his will. “I guess I was picturing more like…you know when you’re watching cartoons, and whenever they’ve got like a — a box on a windowsill or something, it’s always like spilling over with flowers? Just completely overrun?”

“Um…yes,” he said, hesitantly.

“I…Yeah,” Mac finished lamely. He clutched the violets closer to his chest like they might protect him from the judgment presently blooming across Dennis’s face.

“Are you,” Dennis said after a long pause. He stopped, throat working to try again — and horribly, Mac watched as an incredulous smile began to spread across his visage. Mac’s lower lip jutted out defensively. “Mac, I am sorry but I have to ask. Do you know _how_ to plant a garden?”

He arched an eyebrow. Mac froze, his mouth open but sticking. Dennis crossed his arms and relaxed back into a smirk.

“I — Of course I know how to plant a garden!” Mac huffed, slamming the violets down on the counter so that dirt spilled over the edges. “You think I’d buy a bunch of flowers and try to put them in the ground without knowing I could do it? You can’t just — I read a _lot_ of books about it before I—”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dennis said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. “Well, in _that_ case…If you’ve read up on it…”

“—and you can’t just — it doesn’t — I mean, _okay_ , it wasn’t a bunch of books so much as it was a few Wikipedia articles,” Mac admitted, flushing harder. He scowled, fists clenching. “Whatever! Books are stupid as fuck.”

“Books are stupid?” Dennis was laughing openly now.

“Yeah!” Mac said, angrier. “They’re nerdy! Only douchebags read books.”

“Okay, okay.” Dennis held his hands up in surrender. “Look, we’re getting a little bit off track here so why don’t I bring this back around. I’m not sure you should be replanting these unless you know how. I’m not trying to be dick, man!” he added, waving Mac down as he swelled up in anger. “I’m being serious. I wanna help you out. If I let you take these home without knowing shit about it, you’re gonna be right back in here next week blowing your money on another batch to kill.”

Mac huffed, glancing away.

“It takes longer than a week,” he muttered.

Dennis pressed his lips together.

“Look, man,” he said. He fell back another step and spread his hands. “Whatever. I’m just saying I know a shitload about planting gardens. But if you say you can do it, hey, have at it. Let me ring up the violets for you.”

Mac frowned off to the side for another ten to twenty seconds before he sighed. He snatched the violets up and hugged them to his chest again.

“Fine,” he said. He turned around, gave Dennis a slitted look over his shoulder. “But you gotta give me a discount for being a dick to me. Like. A customer disservice discount.”

Dennis burst out laughing. He was shaking his head as he crossed back behind the register and started punching things in. Mac frowned but shuffled closer and pushed the cluster of violets onto the counter between them.

“Okay, your total is $25.21, with tax,” said Dennis, tapping one last button and holding out his hand.

While Mac was thumbing through his wallet, Dennis lounged forward on his elbows and curled into a lazy grin.

“So,” he said, when Mac handed him a couple of twenties and he started rifling in the drawer for change. “I’ll see you again next week, then?”

For a second Mac paused, turning that over in his head for a couple of seconds. Dennis handed him his change with the receipt pressed underneath it, just in time for Mac to grimace at him. Dennis laughed; he touched Mac’s wrist for a beat too long and pulled back.

“Shut up,” Mac grumbled.

He snatched his hand away and Dennis just laughed. Slanting a couple more glances his way, Mac finally turned his back on him and marched for the exit. Stupid, pretty, smug flower shop _jerk_.

“Bye, Mac,” Dennis called cheerfully.

Mac snuck a peek over his shoulder. Dennis was grinning, waving at him in what Mac considered a smidge too amused and self-satisfied for a customer service representative. _Dick_.

He tucked his chin into his chest and sped out of there. He swung himself back into the Rolls Royce. Cherry red with a white stripe up the top, he _hoped_ that dickhead inside was watching him speed off in a car this nice. The brand new ’09 Phantom was sweet. Teach that asshole to talk down to him like he was any old schmuck who couldn’t afford to buy violets week after week after week. _Not_ that he was going to need to — He could parent the shit out of these flowers. He’d show Dennis.

Mac got back to the house with just an hour and a half to spare before work, after stopping off for a cheesesteak and some frozen yogurt since he was already in the city, and then followed a guilty trip to the gym. He pulled the car up in front of the garage next to whatever sleek black muscle car Trevor had parked there this week.

“Hey, girl!” Mac called as he burst inside and Molly came bounding in from the living room. She threw herself at him and Mac laughed, setting the violets he’d grabbed from the passenger seat on the table next to the key bowl. He dropped to his knees so he could pet her more vigorously. “Alright, I promised you treats, right? Come on. Then I gotta shower again before I hit work.”

Molly was still busy trying to lick a little treat out of the bottom of a nearly-empty jar of peanut butter when Mac successfully escaped upstairs without her trying to follow him into the bathroom.

The bar had shitty parking out front and he didn’t want to risk leaving one of Trevor’s nice cars in that part of town anyway. That had happened before and he had absolutely no intention of fighting about who had the means to pay for the damages again.

Mac set off walking to the bus stop instead. One of Mac’s least favorite part of the suburbs: Nothing was within walking distance, and there was very rarely public transport. He’d have to go a couple miles.

When he got close, he dug out his wallet to find enough money for the bus before he climbed on. Reaching into his back pocket, his fingers brushed something else; forehead creasing, Mac pulled out the change he’d got from the florist earlier.

He tucked away the money and flicked open the receipt, intending to just crumple it and toss it on the grass, but his eye caught on something instead. Right above his total, where the receipt listed off CASHIER: DENNIS, Dennis had also taken the time to draw a little smiley face there in smooth blue ink.

Mac stared at it for a few seconds, his steps slowing. He could feel red creeping into his cheeks and he kept walking on, more hurriedly now, as he crushed the paper up in his fist and tossed it in the vague direction of a trashcan as he passed one. The throw missed, and the wind buffeted the receipt out into the road instead.

Mac ended up getting to work only thirty-six minutes late, which was basically a record of punctuality and he should get _commended_ for it, actually, not chewed out in the manager’s office for twenty minutes and threatened with getting fired (again). Mac scowled, slinking back to his post by the door as soon as they were finished with him.

“Hey, buddy,” said Charlie, pausing to grin at him when he came by with a mop. “You’re early!”

Mac laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. He raised a hand to wave back.

“Hey Charlie,” he said. “Takeout and Police Academy tonight?”

The flowers all died in a record nine days. Mac sighed, hands on his hips as he studied his failing garden for what felt to him like the billionth time since he’d begun in very early spring. He didn’t _understand_. He gave them water, he gave them the expensive fertilizer, he let them listen to rock songs when he played his music over the backyard speakers while he was in the pool (plants thrived on hard rock. He’d heard it in an episode of Mythbusters). Why were the petals always flaking off or the stems going brittle or some other ugly, wilting disaster?

Twenty minutes later, Mac was parked in a sleek black Mercedes, staring up at the sign overhanging the glass storefront, announcing in fat white letters SOUTH PHILLY FLORIST. Bit of a forgettable thing to call it, in Mac’s opinion. If he owned a business, he’d want to put his name on it.

He took a deep breath before climbing out of the car. The bell above the door chimed, and Dennis — once again situated behind the register, this time playing some kind of thumb game on his phone — glanced up.

“Hey,” said Dennis. “Back already, huh?”

They looked at each other for a beat. Mac noticed — dimly, the way you might notice a bright red car passing you when you’re much more busy watching the sunset — a woman moving through the store as well, perusing all the flowers. Neither one paid her any attention; their stares were locked elsewhere.

“That’s such an annoying goddamn sound,” said Mac, pointing up behind him.

“What? Oh, the bell?” said Dennis. He laughed, setting down his phone and folding his arms on the counter. “Yeah, I know. My dad put it in back when he owned this joint, before he retired. Said it added charm.” Dennis rolled his eyes. “I keep meaning to take it down.”

“I’m sure it just tears right down,” said Mac, twisting around to frown up at it. He leaned up to touch it. “Do you want me to get it? I think I can reach—”

“No! No, that’s okay,” said Dennis. “I’ll get it later.”

Mac said, “Oh,” and stopped stretching up on his toes. They looked at each other for another few seconds.

“Um,” said Dennis, when Mac continued to just stand there blankly, “so can I help you with something, man?”

“Oh! Right,” Mac jolted back into motion, crossing the store toward the back counter. As he got closer, Dennis split into a grin. “Yeah, I — I need more flowers. Which is why I came to a…flower shop…”

Dennis’s smile widened.

“Yeah, I assumed that was the reason,” he said. He glanced at something on his phone. “So you killed them all in a week, huh? That’s impressive, dude. I’ve never seen them go that fast.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. It’s been more than a week,” he said.

The look Dennis gave him was difficult to parse. A little amused, maybe, and a little bit impressed. Something indefinable was lingering in his partial smile. Before Mac could begin deciphering it, Dennis dipped his head.

“How can I help you today, Mac?” he asked evenly.

“Flowers,” he said, nodding sharply. “I need more flowers. Can you help me pick some more out? Like last time?”

Dennis just smiled at him for a moment.

“Sure.”

Mac grinned, something like triumph and a pleased feeling blooming in his chest as Dennis moved out from behind the register and joined him over by the lilacs.

“You don’t want these, though,” Dennis said. No one gestured to the other, but they set off around the store together anyway at a slow pace. “Actually, I anticipated you coming back.”

“Oh, come on.” Mac frowned. “You have _that_ little faith in me?”

“Um, from our short conversation the other day?” said Dennis. “Yes.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Asshole,” he said, pushing him in the shoulder. Dennis laughed.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” he said, “is that I was able to prepare a little bit for your return. So, if you’ll allow me…I have some options ready for you to make things a little bit easier.”

Mac frowned at him. He watched Dennis reach out and trail his hand across a few blossoms to his other side.

“What does that…mean?” Mac asked carefully.

Dennis turned and shot Mac a smile. He pulled his arm back.

“So, I know that you’re looking for something to spruce up your yard and make it look better,” said Dennis.

“My — Trevor’s yard looks great,” Mac insisted. He frowned and stressed, “It looks perfect. He’s _loaded_.”

“Right,” Dennis said after a beat. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The point is, I decided to expedite the process a bit the next time you came in, which I correctly assumed would be very soon after I last saw you.” He grinned, ignoring Mac’s grimace in favor of glancing self-satisfactorily around the store. “I picked out some selections in advance. Follow me.”

“Oh. Okay,” said Mac. He trailed after Dennis as he looped around and began piling different pots into his arms. “Wait. Did you do that ‘cause you want to get me out of here faster?”

For the first time, Dennis stopped picking up flower pots and glanced over at him blankly. Mac raised his eyebrows back — if this guy thought he was annoying, he’d have no problem getting loud about it and then finding somewhere else to buy for the yard.

But Dennis just said distractedly, “What?” and shook his head. “No! I’m trying to be helpful, and run a good business. Is it that hard to believe? _God_.”

Mac frowned.

“Okay…Uh. Sorry, I guess?” He studied Dennis as he grabbed a seventh container; they all began to wobble somewhat worriedly in his arms. “What are you doing? Put that shit down—”

“Come over here,” Dennis said, jerking his head toward the back of the store.

Dennis lined everything up in a row on the counter beside the register, facing him from the other side. He spread his hands.

“…What are you doing?” Mac asked.

Dennis rolled his eyes.

“What does it look like?” he said, a little impatiently. He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I selected these specifically because I think they’ll be good for you and they’re common picks for a yard. I mean, most people go to, like, Home Depot or something but—”

Mac set to work studying Dennis’s selects, intensive in his examination. After a solid minute or two, Mac pulled three of them forward. He glanced up at Dennis, checking if he’d gotten it right.

“Well, this one will look ugly as shit if this is any indication of where your taste lies,” Dennis said immediately, yanking a white-petaled bundle away and nudging the remaining ones closer to Mac. “So, here. Which one is calling to you more?”

Dennis smiled at him. Mac paused, sticking on it for a long moment. His eyes flicked up to Dennis’s.

“I—”

“Excuse me.”

They both looked over at the woman who had been browsing by herself earlier, now nearby at the register. When they turned around, her eyebrows lifted.

“Can I get some help?” she asked pointedly.

They all looked at each other for another beat.

“…Right,” said Dennis, turning back to Mac. “So, which one of these do you like better?”

Mac frowned. As he reached out for a smattering of mixed pink and red ones, the woman cleared her throat. Mac hesitated a second, but Dennis nodded encouragingly at him, so Mac went ahead and picked it up after all.

“Is this gonna—”

“Hello?” the woman called.

“Don’t be rude.” Dennis turned very briefly to snap at her. “I’m with another customer.”

Mac cleared his throat, drawing Dennis’s attention back to him at once. His irritation melted at once.

Mac tried again, “Is this going to—”

“I’d like to pay so I can leave, now.”

“Oh, my God! _Fine_.” Dennis said loudly. He rolled his eyes pretty hard, exchanging a look with Mac, who just raised his eyebrows. Dennis’s voice was a lot softer when he said to Mac, “I’ll be right back.”

Mac examined his selection while Dennis went to help the woman so she could finally get the hell out; he picked up the yellow flowers, then swapped them out again, and again, and again — until Dennis shot the woman a strained smile and rapped his knuckles on the counter. She gave him a snooty look in return.

The minute that the woman turned her back on them, Dennis’s smile sloughed off like gunk. Mac waited for him to come back over and join him, a snarky aside poised on the tip of his tongue that he just knew would make him laugh and break the unpleasant haze the woman had left in her wake, but Dennis surprised him. Instead of coming back over across the counter, Dennis untied his apron and pulled it off. Mac silently tracked him as he came around and stood right next to Mac, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Stup — Uh, she couldn’t figure out exact change.”

“It’s okay,” Mac said, nonplussed. He was still holding the flowers aloft, awkwardly balanced in the air between them; with a jolt, he put them down and shifted a little closer. “Um…Not to be weird, but are you okay, dude?”

Dennis tilted his head to glance up at him.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Mac waved his hand, gesturing at him vaguely.

“You just, you know,” he said. “You seem…”

He didn’t exactly have the words for it, but something was obviously off. Granted, Mac didn’t know the guy at all but this was not how his usual customer service experiences went. Riddled with interludes to yell at other customers and then turning back to Mac with a simper. It was a little off-putting — difficult to find his balance there, unsure about where the line lay between gracious and cruel.

Dennis huffed a tired-sounding laugh.

“I’m just exhausted,” he said, waving off Mac’s bewilderment. He straightened. “Um, sorry. That was unprofessional of me. I just haven’t been sleeping well, and I wanted to — Well, anyway. Have you made a choice?”

The last bit, he said with extremely palpable gusto, and plastered a big, fake, I’m-at-work smile on his face to boot. Mac rolled his eyes, knocking his shoulder into Dennis’s.

“Unclench,” he told him firmly. “No big deal, we all have off days. Anyways, yes. I think I’m sticking with these red ones after all.”

“These aren’t for you?” Dennis asked. He tickled his fingers along the tops of the rejected yellow blossoms, shooting Mac a tiny smile. Mac pressed his lips together.

“No, I don’t really think so,” he said. He pushed his chosen pot toward Dennis, who nodded all businesslike and snatched them up to take over to the register. Mac leaned his hip against the counter while Dennis was punching in keys. Conversationally, he asked, “So, what kinds are these? And the other ones, what did I just pass up?”

Dennis paused, his index finger hovering over a button.

“Change of heart already?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Mac shook his head.

“No,” he said, curling into a small smile. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to pass up on a good thing without knowing what I was missing out on.”

Dennis looked at him for a beat too long.

“Okay,” he said, his attention flickering back down to the flowers in his hand. Dennis cleared his throat, setting them down on the counter between them. “Well, these are pretty standard carnations. Not all of them are perennials, but I picked out the ones that happened to be, since, y’know, you obviously need them. Those other ones, those are daffodils.”

He nodded at the yellow flowers abandoned a little ways down the counter. Mac paused, glancing between his choice and those. He should just let Dennis continue ringing him up. He should.

Dennis rapped the counter.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Huh. I don’t know.” Mac licked his lips and flicked his attention up to him. “What do you think?”

“Well…I like the daffodils better,” Dennis said. “But um, that’s just because I tend to like brighter colors. It’s up to you, man. It’s your garden.”

Mac’s hand curled on the counter. It didn’t even matter that much one way or the other, he should just get out of here. He had stuff to do today anyway.

He started to tell him to just finish up with the carnations, but when he opened his mouth, what he heard himself say instead was, “Actually...” He grabbed the daffodils and pushed them across to Dennis. “I think I want these instead.”

Dennis’s eyes widened. “Really? You sure you wanna change your mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Mac. He averted his eyes, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I just, um. I guess I’ve been doing this whole Easter theme lately, you know, pinks and purples mostly…but spring’s almost over so it’s time to maybe switch it up. Besides, these look nicer.”

When he glanced back up, he caught Dennis watching him for a split second before he turned to the daffodils instead. Mac watched him bite his lip, stroking fingers over a few of the stems.

“Yeah, they do. And it’s not just the color. They’re more elegant,” Dennis eventually agreed. He smiled, a small and quiet thing. “Good choice, man. If you ask me.”

“Why?”

Dennis shrugged. He met his stare for a second that stretched into a few; Mac turned away first, sweeping his hand through his hair.

“So,” he said, blowing out a long breath. “Could you—”

“Yeah,” said Dennis. “I’ll ring these up instead, then.”

They were quiet while Dennis calculated his total and they passed money across the counter. Mac stuffed his change into his back pocket and gave Dennis a tight smile as he gathered the daffodils up in the crook of one arm.

“Well, okay then,” he said. “Thanks for the help today, man.”

Dennis split into a grin, easy for the first time.

“See you next week, Mac,” he said, voice lilting teasingly.

Mac slanted him a cutting look, and Dennis’s ensuing laughter disseminated through the air like vanilla extract in water. Mac rolled his eyes as he turned around, making sure to stick his middle finger up over his shoulder for good measure.

“I’ll see you never, dick!” he called as he pushed through the door. To himself, he muttered, “See him in Hell when I’m showing off my prize-winning garden, _bitch_ ,” and climbed back into the Mercedes parked on the curb. He strapped the flowers down in the passenger seat and peeled off.

Mac didn’t realize he was wearing a small smile until he was far out on the highway. He turned the radio up, sitting up straighter and resolving to forget about the morning. He had important plans today. He had a garden to map out and restart, again.

He’d pulled into Trevor’s driveway and shifted gear into park before he remembered to fumble out the receipt for the daffodils. He scanned quickly up to the line at the top that read CASHIER: DENNIS.

Just like last time, Dennis had scribbled a little smiley face next to his name. This one had its tongue sticking out.

Mac chuckled to himself, flicking his fingers along the receipt to make it flutter. He ended up sitting in his car for a couple of minutes, staring down at the paper and thinking, before he finally came back to himself and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "up with the birds" by coldplay which like, i know, but it was on a list about springlike songs and it kinda worked
> 
> [im lesbianfreyja on here](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/186531132730) :) 🌻


	3. delicate

_Saturday, June 20 th:_

Mac slinked into the flower shop with his head hung low. He knew with one hundred percent certainty that Dennis was going to judge him the minute he saw him so he slunk around the perimeter of the store, instead, to put that moment off for a little while. Fortunately for him, Dennis was busy assisting a couple up at the front so Mac could slip seamlessly into the background alongside a college-aged looking dude in a snapback. Frankly, it was the most business that Mac had seen this place ever get.

Mac wondered what the guy had done wrong with his girl; he snickered to himself, imagining all the possible ways he could have fucked things up. He felt the kid turn to shoot him a glance and tried to sober fast, schooling his smile away. Only after the guy looked away again did Mac notice that he was pretending to intensely examine a plant which Dennis had already instructed him to ignore completely.

The bell on the door chimed.

“Hey, Mac!”

He turned around. Dennis grinned at him, moving out from behind the register and swiping his hands down the sides of his pants.

“Hey, dude.”

“Back already, huh?” He pulled up a couple feet back. Mac noticed more dirt on the backs of his hands than usual; must have been a busy day so far. “That was quick. You already killed those daffodils, man? I really liked those. That’s a shame.”

“Oh — They’re not dead,” Mac assured him quickly. “I just thought, um, they’re doing so well that I should…get them some neighbors, for company.”

Dennis watched him for a quiet moment. His lips parted, eyebrows lifted.

“Uh huh,” Dennis said at last, nodding.

“So um…” Mac cast a glance around the store, feeling a flush crawl across the back of his neck. It was just a hot day, that was all. He wasn’t avoiding Dennis’s eyes. “Could you maybe hook me up again? Like last time?”

Dennis’s mouth was a tight line. Mac’s flush beaded out into sweat, and he waited, chewing on his cheek. Dennis split into a loose smile.

“No problem,” he said. He jerked his head to the side, and Mac followed.

They narrowed it down to two sunset-colored choices, and Dennis turned to face him, weighing one plastic container in each hand. Mac grabbed the moonshine yarrow (“Moonshine?” he stressed. “It’s actually called _moonshine_?” to which Dennis had replied, “I know! I wish I’d met the guy who named it that, he was probably so fucking cool.”) and Dennis nodded seriously, putting the other, orange one aside.

Dennis was swiping Trevor’s credit card — it was for _his_ backyard, why shouldn’t he pitch in? — when he glanced over Mac’s shoulder, fixated on something along the wall.

“No flashy car today?” he asked, jerking his chin.

Mac twisted around, glancing at the same storefront windows on instinct.

“Oh…No, I walked today,” said Mac. Dennis handed him back the card and Mac caught his confusion. He quickly explained, “I live around here, and I’m at my place this afternoon.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, nodding.

Mac gave him a sideways look as he bent to sign the receipt. When he slid it back over, Dennis set all of his fingertips on the counter, two of them trapping the paper down flat; it was such a calculated move that Mac didn’t let go either. Instead, he froze and slid his attention back up to Dennis’s face.

“What are you doing tonight?” Dennis asked.

Mac frowned at him. He turned the question over in his head, twice; Dennis couldn’t be asking what Mac thought he was. No way.

“Um…Me and my roommate were going to order everything off a takeout menu, and then get high and see how much we can get through,” he answered honestly.

Dennis didn’t even blink, which honestly made a swell of pride roll through Mac like a wave.

“I wanna take you out to dinner,” Dennis said. He snatched up the receipt, eyeing Mac carefully as he folded it up and the customer copy started printing. “There’s a place near the river that just opened up, I’ve had my eye on it for a while. Thought we could watch the water and have something to drink.”

This time Mac was watching him, and he saw the moment when Dennis dotted something onto his receipt with his pen. Carefully, calculated, Mac took it back, and he didn’t hungrily consume whatever it was the minute he got his hands on the receipt. It required a lot of concentrated effort not to glance down.

“I…told you,” Mac said. “I’m seeing someone.”

Dennis nodded. He still sounded energized when he said, “Right.”

“Right…” Mac folded the receipt in two and smoothed the crease flatter with a pinch. A nervous jerking of his hands. “So, I can’t go on a date with you.”

“Why not?” Dennis propped his chin on his hand. “He won’t find out or anything. It’s a nice restaurant but it’s not like, _that_ nice, and from what you’ve told me his family’s in the stratosphere. No way he’ll catch us down there.”

“What the hell, dude?” said Mac. Maybe he was a little angrier than he should be, but he couldn’t help it as he felt the indignation glow hotter in his chest. “You don’t just go around flirting with dudes who’ve got boyfriends! That’s so—”

“Don’t start that shit with me,” Dennis said, rolled his eyes like Mac was the one being insane. He even looked a touch offended, for the first time. “ _I’m_ not the one who’s cheating.”

“And I’m not a cheater!” Mac yelled. That wasn’t particularly true but this was about _principles_ , damn it. It was about _boundaries_. Bonds were still sacred, or at least should be expected to be such, unless otherwise indicated. Which Mac hadn’t. He hadn’t done any indicating.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he told himself it was just because he was mad.

“Oh.” Dennis eased back against the counter. “But so, if you weren’t seeing that asshole, you’d be down to go with me?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Mac. He snatched up his yarrow. “It’s not about that, Dennis!”

“I’m not hearing a no,” he said, tone all sing-song and jerking his eyebrows as he leaned over the counter with a grin.

Mac scoffed, glowering, and spun around on his heel. All of the cheer in Dennis’s voice dropped away when he called out to him.

“Oh, Mac — Come on, dude, don’t be like that,” said Dennis. “You’re being so — The offer’s out there on the table!”

Mac did not look back.

_Friday, June 26 th:_

Mac had the decency to wait until the person Dennis was talking to had finished their question before he cut smoothly across the woman standing next in line, off to the side. Mac tapped him on the shoulder, and Dennis turned around brandishing a finger in the air before he saw who it was, and he stopped.

“Oh. Hey, man,” he said, gaze flicking up and down Mac’s body. “Uh, give me a second.”

Mac shrugged and gestured for him to get back to it. He took up residence beside the register and glanced around while he waited, nails drumming on the counter behind him.

“Sorry about that,” Dennis said a few minutes later, wiping off his hands as he approached. He straightened, frowning as he looked Mac over. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you back again.”

“What? Why not?” Mac’s gaze skittered across some pots nearby before they drifted back to Dennis. “So, I need something new, I’m getting tired of looking at these same old colors every day. I’m telling you, this garden’s looking up.”

“Oh, you’re expanding, eh?” Dennis said, sly grin on his face. Mac nodded, pleased. “Come on then, I actually got a new display I think you’ll like.”

Mac followed him to a little booth set up in the back corner, nestled away right beside where the counter opened to cross into the employees-only area. Dennis opened his arms to present the display, turning his grin on Mac.

Mac stared. A flashy sign hung off the front of the table, declaring: HEATHER: $8.25/POT.

“These are, uh…”

“I know, I know,” Dennis said hastily, waving him down. “But you said you wanted something a little bit bigger. Now these aren’t _quite_ the, uh — cartoon flower pot vibe or whatever dumb shit you were likening it to, but it’s definitely got flare! And it’s gonna take up some more space, like you said you were looking for.”

“I don’t know.” Mac brushed his fingers back through a tuft of heather, frowning. “Won’t it cover up everything else in the garden when they’re side by side? I thought you hated shit like that. You know, don’t steal their thunder or — don’t tread on me or some shit.”

“Well, yeah,” said Dennis. He pushed up a slightly droopy tuft of pink, fluffing it straighter. “But it might look nice scattered around the perimeter. What do you think?”

Dennis looked up, hope etched right into the shadows around his widened eyes. Mac dragged his gaze away from his eagerness to inspect, or at least appear as though he was considering, some of the pots lining the front of the table. When he glanced back up, Dennis’s expression had withered a bit.

“I don’t need you telling me how to make my garden, you know,” Mac said eventually. His brows sloped together when he looked back up. “I can do it by myself. I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a good eye for this stuff.”

Dennis watched him for a long moment.

“I know,” he said cautiously.

Mac went back to examining the heather. He could feel Dennis drilling a hole in the side of his face and steadfastly ignored it, even when Dennis sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You know,” Dennis said, in a more annoyed, less indulgent voice. “If you don’t want my help, why do you keep ask—”

“Which ones would you get?” Mac interrupted. Dennis paused mid-sentence, mouth hanging open for a second, his expression blank. “Like, what’s a good color for lining a perimeter?”

They stared each other down. At length, Dennis cleared his throat. He crossed his arms, but though he was aiming for casual his expression couldn’t have made it any plainer that he was practically soaking in bravado.

“I, uh, thought you didn’t need my help,” he said, shifting.

Dennis’s lips wouldn’t stop twitching. Mac suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“Just tell me what color looks best in the grass,” he said exasperatedly.

Dennis looked at him for few more seconds before wordlessly pointing out two different plants, one lavender and the other very pure white. Mac grabbed both.

“Thanks,” he said.

Dennis nodded tightly.

“Of course,” he said. “Come let me ring you up.”

_Wednesday, July 1 st:_

The store was empty again this afternoon, no one around but the two of them. Dennis twirled a stem in his fingers as he held it up for Mac to smell.

“Potent, huh?” He grinned, jerking his eyebrows.

“But they’re good,” said Mac.

He grabbed Dennis’s wrist to stop him from pulling his arm back, and reburied his nose in the flower. Only when he let him go did Dennis’s expression unstill and he stuffed the stem back into the container he’d plucked it from.

“Well, these would look nice if you want them,” Dennis said.

Something lurked beneath his tone that Mac couldn’t quite read. He squinted at him.

“But you don’t think I should pick them,” he guessed.

Dennis sighed.

“Well…” He nudged the container further away from them. “I mean, they’ll look great if you want them.”

“But…” he prompted.

“But,” Dennis said, “I’ve been doing a little thinking, and I think you would like this more.”

He grabbed a pot a little ways away and brought it back over, presenting it in both hands for Mac to see. Mac’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” Mac said softly. He took the pot carefully and leaned down to sniff. His eyes widened when he looked back up at Dennis. “What is this?”

“Jasmine,” said Dennis, practically preening. “Smells even better, right?”

“Yeah.” Mac was still marveling. He leaned down to press his nose to it again. “Wow, Dennis. This is great.”

“You like it?” Dennis said. He rocked back when he laughed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, I _knew_ it. You can admit it. I’m amazing.”

Mac shook his head, grinning to himself. Dennis pushed him in the shoulder.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “Say it! Say I’m amazing. Tell me how awesome and perceptive and _brilliant_ I am.”

“Alright, alright,” said Mac, cheeks warming as he folded his arms over the flower pot, cradling it against his stomach. “Take it down a notch, bro. It’s just flowers.”

Dennis’s teeth bit down into his lower lip, which didn’t at all do anything to suppress his smile.

“Admit it,” he said, quieter. He poked at Mac’s side. “Say it.”

“ _Dennis_ —”

“Or,” he said loftily, “you can go back to picking them out yourself without my incredible powers of assistance and know-how.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Fine, you win,” he relented. “You’re a goddamn genius.”

“With taste,” Dennis said.

“With taste,” Mac agreed. “And a very good eye for what I’m into.”

Dennis beamed.

_Tuesday, July 7 th:_

“Do you ever take a day off?”

“I do on Mondays,” Dennis said.

Mac drummed his fingers on the counter, watching while Dennis continued going around spritzing all the flowers with water. He insisted he had a carefully curated system for this and if he dropped everything to help Mac immediately, he’d lose his place in the rotation. So Mac leaned against a table with his arms crossed, and waited.

“So can’t you wait and do this next week, then?” Mac pressed. “When there aren’t customers waiting.”

Dennis cut him a look.

“ _You’re_ the only one waiting,” he said. “And you don’t count. Besides, the whole point of a day off is that I don’t come in. Also, you can’t wait a week to water flowers. Are you insane?”

Mac groaned. “But—”

“Excuse me,” Dennis said, nudging him out of the way so he could spray the ones that Mac was blocking. Dennis hip-checked him to the side, and he shuffled just far enough to give Dennis room to reach around him. He was doing it to be a dick, just for fun, but then he could feel Dennis’s body heat all of a sudden, hyperaware of his arm a few inches way.

Mac could tell how wide his eyes were when they dragged up to Dennis’s face but he couldn’t help himself. Worse, still, was that his expression didn’t flicker back to blank until Dennis had already looked up at him and seen.

Mac cleared his throat. They both looked away.

Dennis recommended him a few different types today, but eventually they narrowed it down together. Mac took the cluster of purple and yellow irises out of Dennis’s outstretched palms, nearly reverent as he pulled them closer.

“Mac, I gotta ask you something,” he said, pausing halfway through manually typing in the flowers’ product number (his scanner was down, _again_ ).

Mac pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “Hmm?”

“Is your garden really flourishing like you say it is?” Dennis asked. His eyes flicked up, watching Mac seriously.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been coming in here for a month, telling me you’re adding to it because the ones you’ve replanted already are doing so well,” said Dennis. “But come on, you killed my daffodils in, like, a week! And what, you suddenly became a master at it, just like that? Be real.”

“I am being real!” said Mac. He could hear how his voice climbed through an octave but he couldn’t do shit to stop it. “I’m doing great! It’s really full and colorful and I—”

“Mac, be real with me,” he said in a singsong voice.

Mac’s nervous smile dropped. He crossed his arms, squeezing himself around the middle.

“I—”

“Mac, _come on_ ,” he pleaded. “It’s been nearly a _month_ since you started coming here! I almost hate to say this because you’re kind of my best customer, but…I don’t know. This is getting absurd.”

Mac looked away from him, scowling at the wall.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said finally.

“I told you, I can help you!” Dennis said, his volume climbing. He clenched his fists, breathing deeply. After a few levelling rounds of this, Dennis snapped a glare up to Mac and said, more measuredly, “Let me show you to replant things. Please. Between my know-how and your eye for color, we can make that garden look so good!”

“I don’t want your help!” Mac shoved his hand out. “Give me my irises!”

“No!” said Dennis, lips pursing stubbornly. He yanked the flowers back, out of Mac’s reach, curving his palms over to shield it from view. “Not until you let me show you how to replant them!”

“I know how to plant a garden! My garden looks like one million dollars!”

“Mac,” he said, “I’m teaching you how to put these flowers in the ground or so help me God, I am gonna put _you_ in the ground!”

Mac glared at him for a long time. Dennis scowled right back. Eventually, Mac planted his hand on the counter between them.

“Give me the irises,” he said.

“I—”

“Give me the irises,” Mac repeated, louder, over him, “and I’ll see you at the house on Saturday.”

Dennis straightened, blinking at him. Mac tried to maintain his fierce, unhappy expression but it was difficult when Dennis looked like he’d just gotten decked in the face. He looked sort of funny. Sort of funny in a cute sort of way. Mac’s mouth spasmed at the edges.

“Really?” said Dennis in a small, awed voice.

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, averting his gaze. He drummed on the counter. “Fine, whatever. If only so I can show you how good I’m doing without you.”

Dennis cracked a tiny smile.

“Sure, man,” he said quietly.

Finally, he finished typing in the number and passed the flowers over to Mac, along with his receipt.

“See you Saturday, then,” said Dennis.

But Mac paused. He flipped the receipt over to the blank side and leaned over to snatch up Dennis’s blue pen by the register. Fast and messy, he scribbled out the address to Trevor’s place along with _Show you up Saturday @ 2_ underlined twice beneath it. After he pushed it across to Dennis, he snatched up his irises, gave him a tiny smile, and turned to hurry out of the store. The sight of Dennis staring after him with his lips pursed and his expression soft followed Mac all the way home.

“Morning, babe,” Mac said cheerfully.

Trevor kissed his cheek as he passed Mac, flipping an omelet on one stove burner and grilling an egg and cheese on the another, to take down the necessities for Molly’s breakfast.

“I’m not gonna be back until tomorrow night,” said Trevor, putting Molly’s food bowl down on the floor and scratching the back of her neck before he stood up. He began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “I’ve got a major meeting with our investors tomorrow in Manhattan so we’re all taking the train up tonight to prepare.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” said Mac. He flipped their breakfasts onto separate plates and held the omelet out to Trevor. “You have time to eat with me?”

Trevor grabbed the plate, but Mac didn’t let go for a second, his eyes wide. Trevor smiled softly at him.

“Always got time for you,” he said after a moment. Mac dropped his hand; Trevor winked at him. “I can go in an hour or two, we’re working through the night either way.”

Mac grinned and followed Trevor over to the little kitchen table, just big enough for three — he did bigger parties in the twenty-seater dining room. Mac smiled at him, kicking their feet together under the table. Trevor didn’t play along, but he did reach to cover Mac’s hand underneath his own and squeeze.

“So what are you gonna do without me for two whole days?” Trevor teased.

“Me and Charlie have an early shift and then plans tomorrow,” said Mac.

“That should be fun,” said Trevor, “for you. Are you just gonna hang around here with Molly today, then?”

“Sure, if you need me to babysit,” said Mac. “I’ve actually got a hot date with the garden all day.”

Trevor laughed warmly.

“Oh yeah?” he said. He rubbed Mac’s upper arm. “Gonna have another crack at it? What is this, attempt number six thousand?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, shoving Trevor in the shoulder, rolling his eyes. Sobering, he flicked his thumb against the edge of his plate. “Actually, that’s why I’ve got someone coming over to show me how. You know, teach me the ropes to take care of it, or whatever.”

“That’s a good idea, Mac,” Trevor said, looking up from slicing his omelet into bite-sizes. “I didn’t know you had any friends who knew how to garden. To be honest, I didn’t know you had any friends besides Charlie.”

“I talk to people at work,” Mac said. A pout snuck to the surface, peeking its head out from the shadows. “And Charlie’s actually deceptively good with plants. He nursed a shitload of catnip all over his apartment. He was also in charge of growing all my extra product in high school that I couldn’t fit into my hidey holes.”

“Okay,” Trevor chuckled. “So Charlie’s coming over? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“No. What?” Mac shook his head. “I wouldn’t trust Charlie with _my_ flowers! Charlie gets drugs and cats, he doesn’t understand aesthetics. And he doesn’t know how to take care of stuff that’s just to look at.”

“Okay,” Trevor repeated, slower. Deliberate and hard-won patience dripped through his tone. “So who’s coming to help you, then?”

Mac picked at the crust on his breakfast sandwich, watching it flake.

“The guy who runs the flower shop I’ve been picking up plants from for the past couple of weeks,” said Mac. “Apparently there’s some technique to learn before you put them in the dirt, _I_ don’t know. Burying it is burying it, right?”

Trevor reached over to rub his upper back. Mac leaned into his touch.

“That sounds great,” said Trevor, squeezing his shoulder and pulling back. Mac took a massive bite out of what was left of his sandwich. “I hope he can help. You’ve been working really hard on that garden, it will be nice to see it turn into something finally.”

Mac frowned. He picked at some of the crumbs on his plate, just kind of rubbing them between his fingers.

“Yeah,” he agreed hollowly.

Trevor shot him a smile.

After breakfast, they decided to take things outside. Mac wanted to go swimming but Trevor didn’t want to have to change since he was already in work attire and would soon have to go; they compromised, or at least, Mac went upstairs to put on swim trunks despite his boyfriend’s protests while Trevor made them both Bloody Marys to take outside.

Mac kicked around on a float for awhile, happily slurping his drink. Trevor pulled a chair around to face him and sank down near the edge of the pool.

“Come out and sit with me,” Trevor complained. He snaked a foot out, rubbing it on the rocky perimeter, trying to coax him closer.

Mac spun his float around with one hand.

“Come in with me,” he countered. “It’s nice in here!”

They fought about it for a while, until Mac climbed out and started undressing Trevor himself, fingers light on the buttons of his shirt — finally he wore him down into jumping in too.

Between the alcohol and the morning well spent, Mac felt light and airy right up until the moment Trevor was kissing him — still soaking wet and dripping half-naked by the front gate, whereas Trevor had cleaned back up into his suit.

“Good luck at your stock meeting or whatever,” said Mac.

Trevor slipped a hand around the back of his neck and ducked to kiss him goodbye. A strangely sour feeling bloomed in Mac’s stomach, where normally there was nothing. Where normally there was warmth, when he felt lips on his. He attributed it to how he wouldn’t see Trevor again for another handful of days and swallowed it down.

“Thanks. Gotta run, love you,” said Trevor.

Without looking back, he crossed the lawn and climbed into his car. Mac watched him, waving gloomily, as he backed out and sped off down the street. Only once he was gone did Mac re-latch the gate and retreat back into the yard.

He still had several hours before Dennis should be here, plenty of time to kill. Since the garden was getting put off until later, he blended himself a pitcher of margarita and brought a glass out along with Molly’s filled water bowl, so she could roll around in the grass while he kept tanning on the pool float.

Around one, Mac climbed out to go shower off and dress. The fact that he was trying way too hard occurred sometime while he was fidgeting in outfit number two, staring at the mirror. He didn’t know how to make himself stop, though. This was stupid, he chastised himself; Dennis’s opinion didn’t matter in the goddamn slightest. Dennis had seen him in worse. They were going to mess around in the dirt, anyway.

Ultimately, he changed back into faded jean shorts and one of his usual sleeveless shirts, and he tore himself away from his reflection after a couple more seconds of staring. He couldn’t look at this anymore or he was just going to keep overthinking, to the point of driving himself insane.

He refilled Molly’s water and brought her inside. She leapt up on the couch with him when he settled in, nuzzling further and further into his lap as the episode he was watching crept by; midday, midweek TV sucked and he had landed on a rerun of one of the Real Housewives. He pulled Molly into his lap so she was lying on her back, and scratched at her tummy. Her feet kicked at him.

“You just want some attention, huh?” He rubbed behind her ears. “You’re just a big, needy idiot, aren’t you? You need some love. You just want some love from your dad, don’t you, Molly?”

She squirmed on his lap until he let her crawl off and spin in a couple of circles. She laid her head on his thigh and looked up at him, eyes all big and pathetic. Mac smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, patting her neck.

They got through most of the episode before the knock came on the door. Mac nudged the dog off his lap and shut the TV.

“Coming!” he called, when the rapping of knuckles sounded again.

Dennis grinned when Mac pulled open the door.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey!” said Mac. “You found the place alright, cool. Cool.”

“Yeah,” Dennis laughed. He stepped into the foyer without permission, brushing past Mac, who closed the door as he turned around. “It wasn’t very hard, the name ‘Taft’ is splattered all over the fucking place. On the mailbox, nailed to the tree out front, on one of the potted plants that — Oh, shit.”

He broke off, spinning around on his heel and tilting his face up to stare at the ceiling.

“Uh — What?”

“This place is _huge_!” he marveled. He gaped at Mac, the awe clear on his face. “Damn, dude. You live here?”

“What?” said Mac. He glanced around too, trying to see what Dennis was seeing, trying to remember how he’d felt the first time he came over. It was no use. He was too used to this place. “No, this is my boyfriend’s house. I told you I live in South Philly, near you.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dennis twisted around, checking out everything he could see from here. “Forgot. Well damn, dude. Technically you still get to live here most of the time though, right? Or at least hang out here a lot.”

Mac shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms.

“I guess I do reap the benefits,” he said. He puffed up after a moment. “Ha, good for me.”

“Yeah,” said Dennis, still glancing around. He’d settled a little though, and now he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You weren’t lying about him being loaded.”

Mac shrugged his shoulder.

“Let me show you around,” he said.

Before either of them could move, Molly skidded into the front hall — a solid minute late, good thing Mac was a good enough bodyguard for the both of them, plus Trevor half the time — and started barking. Viciously.

Dennis flinched away, holding up his hands even though Mac jumped in between them to block her view of him as soon as he saw her. She stopped barking, mercifully, but she crouched lower and switched into a growl.

“Molly! Hey!” Mac snapped. “No barking! Dennis is a friend. Be nice to him.” She kept growling, her hackles fully risen. “Be nice! Hey!”

Mac knew better than to stick his arm near a dog’s bared teeth but he edged nearer and nearer, hand outstretched and hovering over her. Molly didn’t even look at him, too busy directing all of her hostility toward Dennis slouched by the front door. When he got close enough, Molly let him stroke her head and then down her back. She let him kneel down beside him and hug her too.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mac said gently.

“I don’t — like dogs,” Dennis said, hesitantly.

Mac peeked at him over the dog’s vibrating head.

“Molly’s usually not like this,” he said. He ruffled up the fur on her back, trying to get her to stop snapping.

“I don’t care!” Dennis said, his voice hiking up an octave. “She’s like this _now_.”

“Okay, okay,” said Mac, standing up and gripping her collar. “I’ll get her out of here.”

After a little effort dragging her in a wide berth around Dennis, Mac got her sequestered upstairs. He barricaded off the top of the staircase with enough easily-movable furniture that he hoped it would hold.

“Alright,” he said, hunkering back down to the foyer. Dennis eyed him, somewhat nervously. “Sorry about that! Okay, ready?”

Mac smiled brightly at him. Dennis, still plastered to the wall, nodded uncertainly.

Role reversal: Mac waved Dennis along after him as he started off through the house. He gestured vaguely toward each room as they passed it, barely walking Dennis through any of them, mostly just giving him highlights from the hall. They ended up in the kitchen when the bastardized tour was all done. Dennis leaned across the counter while Mac got him some water.

“Hey,” he said, watching Dennis sip. “You want a margarita before we get started? Maybe something to eat? I — uh, haven’t had lunch yet, and I actually made a pitcher right before you came over.”

“Oh, really?” Dennis perked up. “Sure, man.”

“Cool.” While he grabbed the pitcher from the fridge and two empty glasses, he asked over his shoulder, “What are you hungry for? This kitchen is tits, it’s stocked up with everything you could want.”

“Uh…You got sandwich supplies or something?”

“Yeah. I’ll whip something up.”

Mac started pulling out ingredients from the fridge at random. He wasn’t sure what Dennis liked; Dennis settled himself into a tall chair on the other side of the counter, drumming his nails against the side of his margarita and not offering up any kind of insight into his preferences. He just occasionally side-eyed Mac’s choices, leaving him to fend for himself.

“This is good, by the way,” he said, tilting the glass toward him.

Mac glanced over.

“Oh — Thanks, man,” he said, as he unpacked four slices of bread and started covering them in mayo. “Lime juice is all freshly squeezed, we grow them outside.”

“Really?” Dennis raised his eyebrows. “Love freshly squeezed fruit. You make any kinds of juice like that? Like actual juice? For drinking and stuff like that?”

“Uh, I don’t,” said Mac. He was a little distracted trying to hold the thread of the conversation and layer deli meat and cheeses onto both sandwiches. “Trevor’s got servants and shit practically crawling out of his ass. They clear out pretty early every morning ‘cause I don’t like seeing them hanging around, but one of his cooks does makes juice fresh every morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you should see what he’s got growing back there.” Mac nodded at the sliding glass door that led out into the yard. “He’s got, like, a tree for every fruit you could want.”

“Damn.”

Dennis sipped at his drink some more. Mac watched at him covertly as he could: His carefully polite expression, the way his eyes darted everywhere around the kitchen but at him. Mac frowned for a split second, but he wiped it off before Dennis could see.

“Um…Yeah,” he said. “Uh, do you want anything else on this?”

Dennis craned over the counter to see what was already there, engaged for the first time since he’d sat down. Mac ended up chopping up some vegetables for Dennis and slathering his own lunch in pickles and potato chips from the pantry, and they both grimaced at each other’s choices when Mac sat down next to him at the counter before they dug in.

Mac showed him outside after they were done. Again, Dennis marveled as he stepped into someplace new — and Mac found himself smiling, watching Dennis turn his head all over the yard to soak it all in. When Dennis turned towards him, his eyes were bright, and a huge grin spread across his cheeks.

“Dude, this place is fantastic,” he said. “I mean, my place is pretty damn nice but this is _insane_. There’s so much room out here! You could do so much more with this space, why aren’t you?”

Mac glanced around. For the first time, he noticed the patches of dry grass and the sparse areas around the lawn decorations. His gaze strayed back to Dennis, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I guess I never really thought about it,” he said.

“Do you take care of all this?” Dennis asked. He sounded a little more clinical, shifting into florist mode. He was scanning the line of bushes climbing up toward the windows along the back wall of the house.

“Me? Oh, no,” said Mac. “The gardener takes care of all that. Yeah, he deals with everything except for my garden. I kicked him off that and take care of it all myself.”

He puffed up, fists planted on his hips as he smiled proudly. Dennis eyed him with something twitching at the corner of his lips.

After a moment, he said, “Why don’t you show me?”

“Oh yeah, sure! Come on.”

Mac waved Dennis after him and bounded across the yard. He kneeled down to bump up a drooping jasmine, trying to make it perch straighter on its stem before Dennis came close enough to see. Mac stood up quickly, swiping his hands clean on his knees.

Mac presented his hard work eagerly, arms spread to gesture at it. Dennis stared for a long time. Mac glanced between his face and the ground a couple of times, and he put his hands on his hips again.

Denis turned very slowly to look at him.

“I…goddamn knew it,” he said finally.

Mac frowned. “What?”

“I knew it!” Dennis said. He was beginning to reanimate, pointing down emphatically. “Your garden is a piece of shit, I told you! I knew it!”

“It is not a piece of shit—!”

“You told me,” Dennis said loudly over him, “that you were adding and adding to this garden of flowers, and that you were not, in fact, killing them all off as steadily as you did my daffodils! You told me that you were _expanding_ , that you were _thriving_ —”

“I am thriving!” said Mac, his brows pinching together. “Look how many different kinds I’m growing!”

“There’s, like, six flowers left here and they’re all wilting!” said Dennis. Mac swelled with a glare, and Dennis held both hands out to stop him, nearly patting his shoulders. “Mac, but wait — but wait, Mac, wait. I can help you.”

Mac fell back a step, stymied.

“You can?” he asked, sounding smaller.

Dennis cracked a smile.

“Totally, man, totally,” he promised. “Look, why don’t we go get your tools and see what we can do. Okay?”

Mac glared. Dennis jerked his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Mac grumbled at last.

Mumbling darkly a bit still, Mac showed Dennis around to the shed on the side of the house. Mostly it was filled with pool toys, five of Mac’s broken bikes that he kept meaning to learn how to fix, and other useless bullshit like that, but Mac guided Dennis around to the back and crouched down next to a few buckets filled with gardening supplies: gloves, spades, and the like. Dennis planted his hands on his hips, and Mac twisted around to look up at him.

“Is this it?” he asked, studying the meager collection intently.

“Yeah,” said Mac, eagerness flickering out as he took in Dennis’s expression. He stood. “Why, is it not good enough?”

“It’s fine,” Dennis said. “It’s just a little understocked. I mean, you’re just making it harder on yourself if you limit yourself to supplies like this.”

“Oh,” said Mac. “Well, what do you use?”

Dennis studied the gardening tools, and Mac watched the side of his face again, absently trailing his gaze down a cheek. He was clearly very passionate about this, taking it more seriously than anyone — Trevor, Charlie, his parents, even the gardener — had taken Mac’s pet project yet. His jaw ticked, and Mac skimmed over the line of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose and brow. Dennis glanced back over at him, and Mac’s eyes jumped back to his.

“It’s not about what you use, man. It’s how you use it,” he said, what Mac felt to be overly enigmatically. Dennis cracked a smile. “I’ll tell you what. How about I show you the technique first, before we even touch your garden. I just think it might be too big a step too fast.”

“But you said that you could help,” Mac said. “Back at the store.”

“Yeah, but now that I’m actually seeing it, I think I have to give you a little hands-on experience first before we progress to the big stuff, like applying it to anything.” Dennis’s gaze flicked over him. “How’s about you come over to my place sometime this week when we’re both off work? I can show you everything I have and how to use it on my _own_ garden, and that way you can see me in action before we get to work over here.”

In the dark of the shed, it was difficult to pick Dennis’s expression apart. The all-too-recent incident, Dennis leaning over the counter and smiling prettily as he said, _“I wanna take you out to dinner,”_ as he said, _“I’m not the one who’s cheating,”_ echoed around in the back of Mac’s head.

But at the forefront, Dennis was smiling at him. Dennis was promising to make his garden grow.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly, “okay.”

“Yeah?” Dennis’s smile was a small glow in the dark; eye-catching and barely ignited and warm.

Mac nodded, jerky.

“Okay,” said Dennis, chuckling. “How about Tuesday, anytime after four? You have work?”

“Uh — No,” said Mac, shaking his head. “No, not working. Tuesday’s great. Tuesday would be great.”

Dennis smiled at him, and Mac watched him watching him; then Dennis laughed again, dipping his head and glancing up at him through his lashes. Mac’s heart was beating, a steady pounding rhythm, in his chest. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. His hands felt warm.

“Okay,” Dennis said, pressing his lips together. “Okay, great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [x](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/186635435085)


	4. spring affair

After they decided to procrastinate Mac’s garden on Saturday, they watched football on TV for four hours and finished off the pitcher of margaritas before moving on to beer. Dennis left just before dinner, and Mac barely refrained from asking him to stay.

He also resisted going back into the store in the days that followed, although that particular impulse was even harder to control. More importantly, he couldn’t come up with any valid excuse to go in because he couldn’t justify needing flowers, now they had decided to put off building his garden until after Dennis’s lesson. Instead Mac picked up some extra shifts at the bar so he wouldn’t be so tempted by all of his free time. He hardly saw Trevor, except briefly on his lunch break Sunday; mostly he passed the nights playing video games and drinking beer with Charlie well into the early hours.

On Tuesday, at a little bit past four, he stood outside the address Dennis had given him the other day. He looked up and up, seemingly endlessly up — Dennis had been giving him shit for having such a rich boyfriend, but he was a goddamn hypocrite, it seemed. Trevor’s house was undoubtedly larger and much, much nicer but that didn’t negate the fact, plain and simple, that Mac was standing outside of a mansion.

Unless Dennis had given him a fake address as some kind of a prank, and he was about to make an ass out of himself in front of the complete stranger who would come to open the door. Frankly, he wasn’t sure that possibility didn’t sound more likely than that Dennis somehow lived _here_.

Shaking his head, Mac knocked loudly on the front door. Not a minute later, the curtain to the window just next to him moved, and Mac caught Dennis’s eye as he peered, bent sideways, through the glass.

Dennis grinned as he pulled the door open, his arms spread out wide.

“Hey!” he said. “You found the place alright? Cool, good. Well, come on in.”

“Damn, dude.” Mac’s eyes flicked over the front hall. Although it was busted up pretty good now, he could see that it must once have looked nice: the dented frames of the ornate paintings hanging over antique furniture, the dark and polished wooden staircase with some of its rails punched out, the crack running through the mirror, the candle wax dripped off the holders and burned into the wooden table below. “This place is awesome. Are you, like, rich or something?”

“Huh?” Dennis’s eyes flicked over the walls. “Oh, no. This was my parents’ place before Mom croaked and Dad moved out. Divorce, you know how it goes. Mom left it to me, but I didn’t get any money.”

Dennis scowled, some unforgotten indiscretion or another crossing his mind. Mac, for one, didn’t give a shit about his sad, lonely rich boy backstory. A mansion was a mansion.

“Still,” Mac murmured. He settled on the complex design of the rug near the fireplace in the living room, which he could see from here, the couches and chairs scattered around it too. “You have this place all to yourself?”

“No, my sister lives here with me,” he said. He wrinkled his nose.

“You have a sister?” Mac asked, his interest piqued.

He was beginning to realize that he didn’t know very much about Dennis, and this scrap of information was more than a little intriguing. Mac filed it away without fuss. If knowing Dennis was a room, then it was an empty and dark one, with only a handful of filled-out flashcards scattered around the floor like someone had tossed them into the air with no care where they landed. Mac opened the door a crack and slipped this new notecard in neatly beside the others.

“Yeah,” Dennis said breezily, “Dee. We stay out of each other’s way for the most part, though. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“How did she—” Mac began, not because he really wanted to know but because now Dennis had told him one thing about himself, he was hungry to hear more. Like diving into a fresh, crisp bag of chips — just one would never be enough to satisfy him.

Dennis shook his head, waving his hands around.

“I don’t wanna talk about her,” he cut Mac off. “Come on, she’s boring. Want me to show you around?”

“Oh,” Mac blinked, sidetracked immediately. “Yeah, sure!”

Dennis gestured him ahead, away from the entryway and the well-decorated living room whose giant TV was drawing Mac’s eye. The touch to Mac’s lower back that settled against him through his t-shirt as they left was a shot of sweet whiskey down Mac’s throat, and he nearly shivered. He glanced to the side and caught Dennis’s eye as he ushered him through to the next room.

And Dennis was still touching the small of his back. His hand felt warmer, even though Mac’s t-shirt, than he was used to feeling on his skin. He wanted to lean into it, or turn around and feel it skitter across his sides before Dennis realized what was happening and pulled away.

But he didn’t. He let Dennis guide him through, and then he was moving away to point out different rooms that branched off from the dining room: the study, the library, the office. They went through the whole house, more thoroughly than Mac had shown him around Trevor’s. Mac barely took in any of it. Dennis kept touching him every now and then, guiding him through doorways or over a mess on the floor, and Mac basked in the feeling. It never felt like this when Trevor touched him, he couldn’t help thinking; although he thought it might have in the very beginning. He couldn’t remember anymore. The spark of Dennis’s hand on him was dizzying and three years was a long time for the early details to blur.

They wound up back in the kitchen, so Dennis could grab a glass of water. He filled it from the tap and looked up.

“Want to come see the backyard now?” he asked.

Mac nodded, silent. Dennis led him outside into the sun. The yard was larger than Trevor’s, although possibly just because the house itself took up less of the property. Most of it was covered in lush green grass, uninterrupted by lawn furniture or anything of the sort. Mac skated a glance across the property; Dennis had judged _him_ for not doing more with the space available to him, but this was pathetic. Mac could fit five half-finished home improvement projects back here, and still have room to grill dinner.

“Damn,” he whispered, while Dennis led him over to the side fence, still sipping on his water. “This place is sweet, bro. You must have had, like, a ton of parties out here in high school.”

Dennis glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh…Yeah, I did actually,” he said, though he sounded distracted. “Great for bonfires and beer, you know.”

Mac wished he’d known more rich kids in high school. Even dealing with their obnoxious, flashy displays of wealth probably would have beat out hanging with Charlie and a handful of strays every other weekend, smoking weed under a bridge and in alleys and shit. Besides, he would have loved to steal something from inside this house. Half of Dennis’s stuff was just begging for some less-fortunate partygoer to rehome it.

Dennis clapped him on the shoulder and tugged him the last few feet toward the perimeter of the yard. Mac set his hands on his hips.

“What am I looking at?” he asked.

Dennis frowned at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and incredibly, when Mac turned to him, his face was drawn in dead seriousness.

Mac stared.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked. “God, Dennis, and you gave _me_ shit for _my_ garden!”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowing, and that was maybe the worst part: how absolutely and entirely genuine he sounded, unsure how Mac was looking down on this with anything but awe. Mac could feel his eyes bugging out.

“Dude, your garden is shittier than mine!” said Mac.

Dennis gaped. He slapped Mac on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Don’t say that!” he hissed, sounding absolutely scandalized. “You asshole! Your garden was mostly dirt, there was _nothing_ in it!”

“This is the tiniest garden I’ve ever _seen_!” Mac crowed, which — alright, he hadn’t seen many aside from his own and the botanical gardens Charlie had dragged him to when they were tripping on acid a couple of times, but still. Even he knew that this display was completely pathetic.

Dennis frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hey, at least my flora is actually growing!” Dennis said with a glare.

“Yeah, but this barely even qualifies as a garden!” said Mac, smiling in disbelief. Dennis couldn’t seriously be proud of this? “This is, like, the size of one planter.”

“So what?” said Dennis. “It’s about quality, not quantity.”

“No way! Anyone can grow one single goddamn flower,” said Mac. “The _real_ mark of a good gardener is about whether or not you can sustain a lot of them at once.”

“You can’t even grow one flower, you son of a bitch.”

Dennis’s arms dropped, free hand clenching into a fist by his sides, the knuckles holding his water turning white. He looked weirdly incredible like this — Mac didn’t want to notice this but he was enchanted against his will anyway. Dennis’s eyes were all bright, color rising in his cheeks as he worked himself up into a rage. Mac’s gaze flickered over his whole face, then up and down his body. He licked his lips.

“You’re just jealous that yours is a piece of shit,” Mac shot back. “You _wish_ I’d come back here and help you expand.”

He barely knew what he was saying. The ember glowing hotter in his stomach was entirely new to him; he didn’t know the cause, didn’t understand why he could feel adrenaline thrumming through him as he scowled and took a big, deliberate step closer to Dennis to intimidate him.

Dennis rolled his eyes. His cheeks went even pinker.

“Shut up,” he said. “The only thing you know how to do with a flower is kill it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell yourself that,” said Mac. “Is that why you pushed for me to come over here so bad? You just wanted a hand so I could show you what’s what for free!”

“Mac, it’s pathetic that you genuinely sound like you believe that,” he deadpanned. “Look at these flowers! There’s so many they can barely all fit in here—”

“You’re supposed to be a florist, dude!” said Mac in disbelief. “Why have I been trusting you with my garden this entire time if you can’t even grow one of your own?”

“I — What?” he gaped at him. “Look, I just…I don’t have a ton of time, okay? I mean, I spend most of my day hanging out at the shop, you know, and a lot of the time it’s late when I finally get home. Even when I get days off, I mean, I don’t want to be spending it out here doing the same exact shit that I do every single day at work.”

He shrugged. Mac scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah…I guess that makes sense,” he said eventually.

“Yeah, I know it does,” said Dennis, finishing his water off and balancing it carefully on one of the flatter rocks making up the perimeter of his garden. “That’s like if I asked you to stay on high alert when you went home, or, I don’t know — to check my ID or some shit every time I want a beer.”

“Well, I’m always on the highest alert,” Mac said. “I gotta, you know, keep Charlie and Trevor and everybody safe, but…I see your point, yeah.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. Mac frowned, wondering what _that_ was about, but before he could ask, Dennis clapped his hands together.

“So, are you ready to get down and dirty?” he said.

He smirked. Mac rolled his eyes, and Dennis laughed.

Mac helped him haul a couple of buckets out of his shed, filled up with gardening tools, gloves slung over the edge. He rolled his short sleeves up into a tank top and rubbed his hands together, eager.

“Alright,” he said. “Where do we start?”

“Where else? Hands and knees,” said Dennis.

He split into a grin. Mac climbed to the ground but Dennis just sort of dropped straight to his knees, pulling the gloves out of the bucket beside him and yanking them on, determination hard on his face.

“Okay,” Dennis said seriously. “Mac, hand me my scissors.”

He picked a bright, sunshine-colored flower from the bundle he’d brought outside with them and held a palm out for Mac to slap down the requested tool.

“Now, you should know that one of the reasons you’re probably having a hard time is because the stuff I sell, half the time they’ve already been cut a week or so before you get them home,” said Dennis. “That’s gonna make it a lot harder to persuade them to take root for you.”

“Oh.” Mac frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said. “But it’s not impossible, mind you. Anyway, these babies were fresh cut this morning, just to give us a leg up. Can you pull that other bucket closer? I’m gonna use it for scraps.”

Dennis snipped the end of the stem into the bucket while Mac watched him closely, nodding along with everything he said.

“…which why I don’t recommend leaving them in your car all day first,” Dennis was saying. He cut a significant look to Mac and rolled his eyes.

Mac scowled.

“You don’t know that I do that,” he said. The sun was beating down hard on the back of his neck, and he swiped away a bead of sweat as it swelled and slid down into the collar of his shirt.

Dennis arched an eyebrow.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Fine, yeah I do,” said Mac. He looked away. “Whatever.”

Dennis chuckled for a moment before getting solemn again.

“So,” he said. “You’ll want to dig out a hole just so…Where do you want to put it? You pick.”

Mac studied the small garden seriously for a minute before he pushed two violets apart and pointed at the dirt in between them. Dennis shuffled closer on his knees and began digging with his spade. Mac’s gaze flickered between what his hands were doing, practiced and skilled and assured, and the back of his neck as he bent over toward the ground. The long arch of his back shown through his shirt as he stretched, shoulder muscles shifting under the taut fabric. Dennis tossed the spade to the side and Mac’s eyes traveled up to the back of his head, noticing distantly how his hair curled messily with the beginnings of sweat, wondering if it would bounce back if he pulled on it or get frizzy instead. Dennis was talking about something he did to the dirt to keep the flowers healthy but Mac watched the slip of skin that grew as his shirt rose above his jeans, and he didn’t hear him.

“Mac. Mac!” he said, looking over his shoulder to glare. Mac startled, his eyes skipping up to Dennis’s face. He had the feeling that this was not the first time his name had been called. Dennis snapped his fingers impatiently. “Can you please pass me the pink spray bottle? It’s got a clear top, it should be in one of the buckets. I need it.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. He rifled around in both buckets, knocking around everything inside until he came up with the bottle and held it up for Dennis to see. “This?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” said Dennis. He held out a hand. “Gimme, please.”

Their fingers brushed as Mac passed it over. With his cheeks pinking, Mac pulled his arm back fast, but blessedly, Dennis was already turning away and didn’t appear to notice. Mac shoved his hands into his pockets, refocusing on what Dennis’s were doing for a welcome distraction. Seeing him work barely helped the flipping in his stomach, though he hoped paying enough attention would make it stop eventually.

“Dennis?” he asked. “Can you do that again? I missed it.”

“Missed it?” said Dennis. He sat back on his heels. “I barely did anything. I just sprayed this on the — Alright, you know what, I’ll just run through it again. Most of the time you’re supposed to soak the stem in a bowl of this stuff but when I’m pressed for time, I just use the spray. Not as effective but it’s better than nothing—”

Mac zoned out again. Dennis had reached to settle the stem in the hole he’d made and was packing the dirt back in around it, and the way he kneeled over like that made his ass stick out out. Mac coughed, concentrating very hard on not looking.

“See? All done,” said Dennis. He sat back, pulling off his gloves, and smiled at Mac. “The natural humidity will help it take root, and you just gotta come out and water it now and again to help it along, but mostly you won’t have to do very much. You wanna try?”

Mac took the gloves he offered out, slipping inside them. They were already warm from Dennis’s hands, and he resolutely didn’t think about that either as he crawled up so that he and Dennis were side by side. Mac could feel the sticky warmth of him, an inch away, and it wasn’t pleasant but it _was_ distracting.

“Grab me a flower, bro,” said Mac, turning to look from the side. Dennis gave him a little smile, and Mac held out his hand.

“How about…this one,” he said, browsing the meager selection he’d brought out with them and picking a blue one at random. “Now you remember what to do, right?”

Mac snatched the stem.

“Don’t baby me, Dennis,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“ _Do_ you?” he said archly.

Mac made a face. That felt childish, even as he did it, but he was only barely refraining from sticking out his tongue too. He scanned the array of tools Dennis had pulled out from the bucket and dropped after he was done with them, trying to decide where to start. At a snail’s pace, prepared for the signal to stop and try again, Mac grabbed the scissors — he peeked a questioning glance up at Dennis, who nodded encouragingly.

“Um, so you cut it…here,” Mac said, poising the scissors over the stem.

“Oh — No, no, no!” Dennis reached out and closed his hand over Mac’s wrist, stilling him. They both glanced down at where they were touching, and then slowly back up to each other’s faces. Dennis cleared his throat and moved Mac’s arm down a few inches, lining up the scissors for him. He was explaining something again but Mac couldn’t stop staring at him, at the concentration in his face. From up this close, he could have ignited something with that look — Mac was sure of it. He could believe in things like that, it didn’t seem like a stretch. Not when Dennis was this near. “Snip it. Okay, great. Toss that.”

Only once the proper cut was made did Dennis pull his hand away. Mac waited until Dennis looked up at him again, his mouth open and waiting for the green light to continue.

“And then I…dig a hole?”

“Yep,” said Dennis, head dipping in a nod. “Here’s the spade. Go on.”

Mac fumbled for it and dug a little hole into the first clear patch of soil he saw. He tossed the spade down and reached for the flower again, but before he could do anything besides grab it, Dennis leaned over too. When his hand landed on the small of Mac’s back for balance, Mac froze — Dennis bent down past him and stuck his finger into the hole Mac had made in the dirt, deepening it a little more just by wiggling his finger down. The touch to Mac’s back didn’t stop until he had sat all the way back up, cleaning his other hand on his jeans.

Mac’s temperature had spiked, and he didn’t move again until after Dennis’s fingers were gone, no longer spread across his spine, although he could still feel the memory of it like they were splayed there still. The heat racing through him boiled over and broke out in sweat, exacerbated by the sun.

“Um…um,” said Mac, blinking hard as he tried to remember what he’d just been about to do. His gaze landed on the flower he was holding and he jumped into motion sticking it in the ground, packing dirt back in around it. Dennis reached out to stop him, pulling Mac’s arm back by the bicep. Mac looked up at him. “What?”

“You didn’t spray it with the rooting hormone, dude,” he said. He grabbed Mac’s other hand and slapped the pink spray bottle down into his palm. Mac wished Dennis would stop touching him so much; Mac wished Dennis would touch him more. “Two spritzes, go on.”

Mac did as he was told and then dropped the spray down, filling in the hole around the stem again, while Dennis cursed beside him and wiped dirt out of the opening of the bottle. Mac patted the earth down intently.

“Okay,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “And then…”

He hovered over the buckets, scanning the contents in there. Only when he reached in and picked something up did Dennis yank on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do anything else,” said Dennis. “What are you grabbing?”

“Oh,” said Mac. He pulled his hand out of the bucket. “What did you say, then?”

“Just to water it regularly,” Dennis explained, shaking Mac’s shoulder where he still had it in his grasp, “but the sprinkler takes care of that here.”

“Oh.”

Dennis laughed, clapping him on the back. Mac smiled back.

Aside from Dennis demanding that he do all the cutting, because Mac just was _not_ getting it, apparently, according to Dennis’s frustrated tirade as he nearly ruined another one — together they planted all the other flowers Dennis had bought that morning. It was nearly an hour later when they finally sat back, wiping sweat from their hairlines. Mac pulled off his gloves.

“We’re done!” Dennis said happily. He threw some tools back into one of the buckets. “Hey, you got time for a beer?”

After they cleaned up and put everything back into the shed, Mac splashed water on his face in the kitchen sink while Dennis cracked them each open a beer. They took them in the living room, while Dennis flipped the TV onto a rerun of a college basketball game. Mac watched as Villanova steadily scored more and more and thought about how he didn’t want to go after this was over — Dennis laughed at something that he said and Mac wanted to stay, stay for another game, and maybe another one after that, and it occurred to him that nothing was stopping him.

Dennis kept getting them beers and Mac watched another game, until it was late enough that they had to order takeout for dinner. Dennis found Top Gun on a higher channel and Mac was laughing, bent over his container of pork fried rice, sitting cross-legged up against the coffee table, laughing so hard his sides hurt. Dennis was grinning, chuckling as he watched Mac practically rolling around on the floor in reaction to his stupid joke about gym shorts and scooping what seemed to be a container full of nothing but vegetables into his mouth.

The sun had set while they sat here, and they had long since lost the natural light that once soaked the room when they first came in. Now everything was dark except for the flickering of the TV as Tom Cruise raced through the air. With their dinners cleared away, they both scooted around to the same side of the coffee table so they could lean against the couch while they watched the movie. Dennis’s shoulder shook less than four inches away from his own every time that Mac made him laugh, and it made Mac want to reach out and sweep his fringe back when he dipped his head, but he never did. He kept his hands to himself and only looked at Dennis from the side, but he was thinking about it. A lot. Enough that he felt a little uncomfortable, a little guilty, even though he never crossed the line and touched. But he couldn’t stop looking, and Dennis was still grinning and bumping their arms together to get Mac in on the joke.

At nearly eleven, Mac stood up from the couch, stretching his arms over his head and yawning.

“I guess I should go,” he said. “I’m really tired and it’s a bit of a walk to the bus—”

When he dropped them, he caught Dennis’s gaze jumping up to Mac’s face and he ignored it, looking away. He crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably.

“Oh — Yeah, man. Of course.” Dennis pushed himself to his feet too. He rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, do you want a ride? It’s just, it’s a bit of a long walk, and I can get you there and back much faster anyway. I don’t mind—”

Mac jammed his hands in his pockets.

“Uh…Sure, dude,” he said.

It stopped Dennis cold. He looked up at Mac, half a smile growing on his cheeks.

“Cool,” he said, nodding. “I’ll — get my keys.”

Mac followed him out to the driveway. He ran a hand along the hood of Dennis’s car appreciatively as he crossed over to the passenger side, and Dennis was grinning at him when he climbed inside.

“You like the car?” he asked, sounding pleased.

Mac nodded.

“I’m not really a car guy,” he admitted, “but it’s cool. It looks tough, you know. Badass.”

“I know,” said Dennis, twisting the keys in. “You’ll see the power on this baby in a second.”

Dennis threw his arm out behind Mac’s headrest to look behind them as he backed out of the driveway. Without traffic, the city was only about twenty to thirty minutes out; Dennis put in a CD that he fished from a book in his glove compartment, the volume turned low enough that they could still talk over it. They didn’t do much of it — conversing — but Dennis had the windows cracked and Mac could feel his heartbeat under his ribs as the wind outside washed over him. Heavy but steady.

He had to direct Dennis down the last couple of streets, and all too soon they had pulled up outside of his building, sliding to a stop right in front of the door. Dennis parked and leaned closer to the windshield to look up.

“Wow, Mac,” he said, gaze tracing the skyline. “Your building is shit.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“We can’t all be trust fund brats, Dennis.”

He had a hand on the door but he didn’t get out. He was looking at Dennis. He knew that he should have torn himself away by now…and by now…and _definitely_ by now — but he didn’t want to, and more importantly, he didn’t know how. Dennis still had his hand on the gearshift, dangerously close to Mac’s knee as he readied himself to shift out of park. He raised his eyes up to Mac’s, lips pressed together firmly. When he swallowed, Mac noticed for the first time how dry his throat felt.

“So...Thanks for having me over today,” said Mac. His voice was very low.

Dennis shrugged one shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, man,” he said. “I’m glad you came. I had fun.”

Mac was still watching him; his lips parted. After a few seconds, he realized that he was waiting for Dennis to lean in and kiss him.

Mac jerked upright, tensing up all over. That wasn’t something he was supposed to want, and he wasn’t sure if it was something that he wanted to want, but he did nevertheless. He thought about Dennis pushing across the center console toward him, and how still he would go while Dennis was closing the distance between them, and what Dennis’s face would look like right before Mac closed his eyes. He thought about how Dennis might sound if Mac slid his hands up his arms and twisted them into his hair. He thought about how Dennis’s lips would feel on his. If they’d be soft, if they’d be wet, if they’d part underneath him.

Mac pressed himself back against the car door. He cleared his throat. Dennis opened his mouth to say something but his eyes slid over Mac’s collar and got stuck on his shoulders, the sleeves rolled back down by now. Mac couldn’t remember when that had happened — they must have fallen out of their careful coils sometime between beer number one and the finale of Top Gun, but he couldn’t pinpoint anytime specific. He couldn’t pin down much about the night except for Dennis’s body heat beside him, and how he sounded when he laughed.

“I’m…Thank you for driving me home, too.”

“Not a problem,” Dennis said slowly, rising up to meet his eyes again. “Love driving my car. Besides, it’s late and a long way on foot.”

Mac nodded, glancing to the side. He felt behind his back without tearing his gaze off of Dennis’s face; he couldn’t stop looking at Dennis’s mouth, a split second at a time as he fought to keep their eyes locked and not look down. An urge rose in him every time he failed. His stomach got hotter. He barely felt the guilt tugging at the back of his mind at all.

But he hadn’t done anything, Mac told himself firmly. He hadn’t put his hands or lips anywhere they shouldn’t go.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, and finally pushed open the door behind him, stumbling one foot out into the street. It was enough: The cool night air enveloped him at once, purging his mind of things that he shouldn’t be thinking. Dennis watched him go with his expression blank, his eyes big. “Um — Bye Dennis.”

Dennis nodded. He shifted back into drive, his foot steady on the brake.

“See you soon, Mac,” he said quietly.

Mac looked at him for a moment. Then he swallowed and shut the door.

As soon as Mac stepped back onto the curb, Dennis cut out of his spot and sped off down the street. Mac watched his car get halfway down the block before he jolted back to himself, and he turned and let himself into his building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> donna summer blessed us with this chapter title. i have feelings for everyone who's read & commented, THANK YOU!!!  
> [x](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/186727761560)


	5. god’s very simple and love shouldn’t burn

He woke up at half past ten, but laid there until nearly one in the afternoon before finally hauling himself out of bed. When he left his room, Charlie was still sprawled on the pull-out couch, playing something with Mario on their GameCube. He glanced up when Mac passed him and headed straight for the kitchen.

“Hey, man,” said Charlie. “What’s up?”

Mac thought about leaving Dennis in the car yesterday, how the last thought he’d had when they were sharing space was about how he wanted Dennis to kiss him. He thought about the multiple dreams he’d had last night in which Dennis had starred — one about them going on a date to the zoo, where Mac ended up wrestling a gorilla to impress him, and won of course; another where they were a two-person team of explorers, hacking through the jungle and rescuing artifacts from tombs; and another that had something to do with a boat and a helicopter, but he couldn’t remember the details. He thought they had had sex in the ocean in that one.

Mac cleared his throat.

“Hungry,” he said instead. “We got leftovers anywhere in here, dude?”

Charlie shrugged.

“I have no fucking idea. The fridge is right in front of you,” he said absently, right before his face twisted and he started slamming on one of the buttons.

Mac dug a container of meatloaf out of the back of the fridge, sniffed it, and decided to toss it — The next thing he pulled out was better, chicken mixed with some kind of yellow vegetable that he couldn’t remember what it was. It smelled fine. He set a plate over the top and punched time into the microwave.

“You got a shift today?” Mac asked a few minutes later, throwing himself onto the other side of Charlie’s folded-out bed. Charlie scooted over, making room for him.

“Yeah, at like, eight or something,” he said, while Mac cracked open his beer and slugged some back. “You?”

Mac watched Mario leap up on the roof of a building with a water jetpack he was wearing.

“Something like that,” he said.

Charlie glanced at him. “You wanna play, dude? We can switch to something multiplayer.”

“No, I’m good,” Mac said after a minute. “I’m gonna run some errands this afternoon, I think.”

“Uh, okay nerd,” said Charlie, scoffing. “Go spend your money instead of sitting at home drinking beer with me.”

“You’re not even drinking a beer, Charlie.”

“Whatever, I don’t need to take shit from you. Nerd.”

Mac watched him burn his way through two levels before he threw his dishes in the sink and grabbed a shower. He still felt grimy from sweating in the dirt yesterday at Dennis’s house, and he desperately needed to wash away last night.

Tugging on a sleeveless shirt as he came back out into the living room, he grabbed his keys off the hook by the door.

“I’ll be back before work,” he called. Charlie grunted something and raised a hand in goodbye.

In ten minutes, Mac was outside the building. He paused right before pushing it open, hand spread on the glass, poised to go. With a deep breath, he plunged inside. The bell chimed and Dennis looked up from spraying flowers.

“Hey,” he said, expression melting in surprise. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh. You know,” said Mac, shrugging. Dennis looked good today, he thought absently, gaze flicking over him. That green shirt was making his eyes brighter. Dennis was still watching him, though, so Mac averted his gaze and pushed his hands into his pockets. He jerked his chin in Dennis’s direction. “What are you doing? It’s not Tuesday.”

“What?”

“Don’t you usually do that on Tuesday?” said Mac, coming a little closer. He pointed at the spray bottle in Dennis’s hand. “That should’ve been done yesterday.”

Dennis split into a smile.

“Oh, yeah. Good memory,” he said, gesturing toward Mac with a proud look. “Well, I forgot yesterday. I was busy, um…”

He trailed off, lips pressing together. Mac ducked to catch his eye as he came even nearer, settling in right beside him.

“Busy doing what?” Mac coaxed. He smiled as Dennis spluttered something unintelligible — oh, this had to be good. Mac poked his arm, and Dennis flinched away. “Come on, tell me. Tell me what it was. Dennis, come on. Tell me what you were doing that had you so distracted you forgot to—”

“I was thinking about you coming over later and picking out good flowers for us to replant,” Dennis snapped. He glared. “Are you happy, dick?”

Mac fell silent. Heat bloomed across his cheeks. He thought that the answer to that, actually, might have been yes but he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t even sure it _was_ happiness making adrenaline flood through him, because he didn’t think that particular feeling was supposed to make him so queasy.

Dennis cleared his throat. He went back to spritzing water on the row of plants in front of him.

Mac opened his mouth after an awkward minute of watching Dennis move around spraying flowers, but before he could come up with anything to say, the bell over the door rang again. They both looked up.

“Hey, welcome to South Philly Florist,” Dennis called. “Let me know if you need any help finding something, okay?”

The guy nodded distractedly and turned down one of the walls of planters. Mac realized that he recognized him, after a minute: this was the frat kid from a few weeks ago. Mac snickered, wondering how he’d fucked up with his girlfriend yet again. Barely any time had passed at all, since his last apology bouquet.

“How’s business been today?” Mac asked, tearing his gaze away from the kid. Dennis had moved away to the other wall, and Mac pushed off the table he was leaning on to get closer.

They chatted while Dennis moved around the store finishing his watering routine, Mac trailing behind him. Mostly his presence was useless and in the way, but Dennis never told him to get lost. He was storing his spray bottle beneath the counter when the college kid came up behind Mac, who stumbled out of his way when the boy said, “Hey, asshole. Make some room if you’re not in line.”

Mac hoisted himself up to sit on the counter, legs kicking while Dennis helped the guy out. Mac waved at his back when he left, then set his hands flat on the counter and twisted around to look at Dennis.

“I’ve seen that kid before,” he said, cheek cushioned on his shoulder and eyes wide.

“Really?” Dennis asked. He was shuffling the money in his hand and starting to lay it out in the drawer, and he didn’t sound particularly interested in this conversation.

“Yeah,” said Mac, squinting at the door where he’d since gone. “Does he come around here often?”

“What?” Dennis glanced up for a second. “I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that guy before in my life.”

“Oh.” Mac’s fingers tapped on the counter. “So, did you st—”

“What’s up, Mac?” Dennis asked, and Mac looked up with his lip between his front teeth. Dennis finally finished putting the cash away and pushed the register shut. “You need help picking something out or do you already know what you wanna grab?”

Mac looked down at his lap, his hands twisting together there.

“Um, I didn’t come here to buy anything,” he admitted.

Dennis came back around to his side of the counter, wiping his palms on the sides of his jeans. His head cocked, expression pinching in confusion. Mac scratched at the knee of his pants and avoided his eyes.

“Oh…Okay,” said Dennis. “Um, why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you stop by, then?” he asked, all deliberate like he thought Mac could understand him better if he just spoke slower.

“I don’t know,” Mac mumbled. He hadn’t planned on coming here so much as he had just followed the urge when he noticed what it was, as soon as he realized what would satisfy the unspecific, undirected wanting in his gut. Sitting at home watching Charlie play a video game they had had since 2004 was hardly the most thrilling activity ever.

“Okay. Well did you, like, need something?”

Mac bit his cheek. “Not really...”

Dennis set his hands on his hips, forehead creasing. After a few seconds of nothing, he looked up at Mac in surprise.

“Did you come here just ‘cause you wanted to see me?” he asked, and he could have so easily sounded judgmental — Mac would have suspected it to some degree, even, for it to come out teasing but he just sounded a touch awed instead. Dennis broke into a smile. He pressed, “Is that what this is?”

“What? No!” Mac said, knee-jerk. “I just — I was just—”

“You were just…?” Dennis asked, eyebrows jumping up his forehead. Now he definitely _was_ messing with him. The knowledge that Dennis was just being a dick did nothing to stop embarrassment from flushing through him, hot and heavy.

“I wasn’t — Not to see _you_ , I don’t — and it’s not like that’s even a — It’s not _illegal_ to walk into a goddamn store—”

“Mac, Mac. Mac,” he said, coming closer with his hands held out, and he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Relax, Jesus Christ. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. I’m just playing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m, uh — I’m actually pretty glad you came in today, if I’m being honest.”

Mac looked up. “You are? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. He hooked his thumbs through his beltloops, rocking back on his heels. “I’ve uh — I’ve got something to show you actually. It’s good you stopped by, really.”

“What is it?” Mac asked, his interest piqued.

He hopped off the counter as Dennis circled back around it and disappeared into the back room. Mac leaned over, trying to see through the door where he’d gone; he wondered if Dennis expected him to follow him back there or if that would be weird, and he was just beginning to make up his mind that he should go after him when Dennis reappeared, carrying a thin glass vase in the crook of his arm.

Mac’s lips parted, wordless as Dennis pushed the flower arrangement over toward him. Mac leaned back, fingertips hesitant on the edge of the counter.

“I, um, made this up this morning,” Dennis explained.

“What…is it?” he asked carefully.

“It’s a bunch of flowers that I thought you’d like,” Dennis said, brightening. “I hand-selected each of them. I just…it’s just ones that I thought might look good in your garden, you know, ones that you’d like. Now that I’ve seen the place, I have a little bit better sense of what goes well out there, and…I mean, you know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not really a big deal. I was gonna give it to you whenever, I didn’t realize I’d see you so soon.”

“I…Oh,” Mac said softly.

A ribbon was tied around the middle of the vase, and Mac pulled the flowers closer to get a better look at the two small cards hole-punched and threaded with the red band. Flicking the first one open, an index card folded in half, Mac saw a short paragraph scrawled in blue pen. Without reading it — blood was rushing to his hands, making them shake, and he could examine the note better when Dennis wasn’t standing so closely and watching him like a goddamned hawk — Mac flipped over the other paper and saw it was, mercifully, just Dennis’s business card. Laminated and hung from this vase of flowers. That Dennis had just given to him.

“I didn’t mean for it to seem like I made this right after we hung out or anything,” Dennis was saying, fidgeting on the other side of the counter. The hand lying on top of it clenched, curled into a fist. “I just had some time on my hands when I thought of it this morning, so I whipped it up. I was gonna keep it stored until I saw you again, whenever that was — Um. Do you — do you like it?”

Mac’s wide eyes lifted from a pale blue sprout and up to Dennis’s face. He looked anxious, chewing on his cheek.

This didn’t mean anything probably, Mac reasoned. He shouldn’t be jumping to any crazy conclusions. For all he knew, Dennis did this for any customer that he saw regularly, that did good business with him. Any customer whose backyards he saw, once he had a proper assessment of the situation and knew which selections would work best there. It didn’t mean anything. Just because Dennis had written him a note in the same pen he used to draw on his receipts, and because Dennis was stuttering through his explanation and because he was watching Mac so carefully, waiting for his reaction, and because Mac had wanted to kiss him in the car last night, and —

Mac’s gaze strayed back to the six or seven flowers in the thin vase. His cheeks were pink, and not just from the way that Dennis was looking at him.

“I love it,” he said. “I — It’s great, Dennis. It’s really…I mean, no one ever…”

Dennis cleared his throat. He still looked a little uncomfortable but there was something else beneath it too, and Mac thought he looked _pleased_ , happy to get this gesture right. Mac tried to look away but couldn’t.

“It’s no big deal,” said Dennis, waving his hand.

“I…I just…” Mac swallowed. “How much?”

Dennis frowned. His brow pulled together.

“What do you mean?”

“How much do I owe you for this?” asked Mac. “I hope I have enough on me, I wasn’t planning on—”

“Mac, no. No!” he said over him, and Mac stumbled to a halt. “This isn’t…Uh, it’s on me. Think of it as, like, a…gift.”

Mac pulled the vase closer, his arms folded around it protectively.

“Are you sure?” he said anyway, though he wasn’t sure he’d hand it over now even if Dennis asked. “What for?”

“A good luck charm, how about that?” said Dennis. “You know, since you’re gonna start growing a garden for real now. You know how to do it, and now you’ve got some flowers to get started with.”

Mac’s throat worked for a long time over what to say. He couldn’t stop looking between the arrangement and Dennis’s face, and he kept flicking back to the card, too, desperate to know what it said, too afraid to read it here where Dennis could watch him absorb whatever it was.

“Thank you, Dennis,” he said eventually, and he meant it. Maybe more than he ever had before.

Dennis rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s nothing,” he said, but Mac could tell that he was lying and he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse, good or bad. His stomach flipped and he thought that it didn’t much matter how his razor-thin morals felt about it anyway.

Mac looked at the flowers and he could feel Dennis watching him, for an interminable minute. Finally Mac stepped back, clutching the vase to his chest.

“Well…I should get going,” he said. “I have work in a little bit and I have to get home first, to — drop these off or something, I don’t—”

“Yeah! Yeah, go,” Dennis said, though it felt forced. He waved Mac off. “I’ve got a business to run here anyway, so you should get going.” He sounded breezy, but now he looked up, more tentative, less certain. “Um. I’ll see you soon, Mac?”

Mac nodded, jerky. “Sure. Definitely.”

“Let me know how the flowers do,” said Dennis, relaxing a bit. He even smiled as he leaned against the counter, like he’d suddenly flipped a switch. This was territory he knew, though.

Mac took another step back. And another.

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll see you real soon.”

Dennis laughed.

“I’m sure you will,” he said warmly.

He was making fun of Mac’s nonexistent gardening skills again and Mac should have been angry, he _wanted_ to be, but he couldn’t find the feeling anywhere. His gaze tracked across Dennis’s face for a moment, every inch of it. A single scrap of good behavior sparked in him and he seized onto it, spinning around and hurrying out of the store before he got stuck there staring at each other for good.

He was so busy rushing back to his apartment as fast as he could that he forgot about the note until he was already halfway home. Fumbling for the notecard, he slowed his steps and pressed it open with his thumb.

_Mac_

_Some first additions for your budding garden! Figured I’d give you a leg up because you’re kind of growing on me. Try not to kill these all at the same thyme. Hope thistle be the beginning of a long and flower-ishing garden for you._

_:)_

_D_

Mac’s heart was beating very hard. He carefully folded the note back up, skimming his nail across the crease so it wouldn’t flutter open by accident. He needed to do something with his hands to distract his mind from racing. If he so much as glimpsed the ink again, he was going to have a panic attack.

Maybe this didn’t mean anything, though, he reasoned with himself, trying to get his breaths to come more evenly. Maybe Dennis did this for everybody. This was nothing but good customer service, Mac thought, this wasn’t something that he needed to obsess over all day. It probably didn’t mean anything, after all.

But then again. Dennis _had_ asked him out to dinner already. Mac didn’t know what yesterday was, either, but that didn’t feel very run-of-the-mill to him. Maybe he’d just been shopping at the wrong stores.

When he looked up, he startled — somehow he was already back at his apartment. That walk felt like it took two seconds. He tried to sneak right past into his bedroom when he slipped inside, but of course Charlie actually paused his video game to look up.

“Hey, that was quick,” said Charlie. Mac made an instinctive move to hide the vase from view but there was literally nowhere to put them. Charlie zeroed in on them immediately and chuckled. “Where’d you get _flowers_ from?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, I get it,” said Charlie. “You’re giving those to Trevor.”

Apparently deciding that this was now too mundane to warrant attention, Charlie unpaused his game and started attacking mushrooms. Mac latched onto the proffered excuse eagerly.

“Yeah! Yep, I picked them up to give to Trevor. Right,” he said, with only a little twinge of guilt. It was fucked up to use his boyfriend as an excuse for the thing he was doing that his boyfriend shouldn’t know about. Right? Not that he was doing anything, of course. “I’m gonna put these in my room for now.”

“Whatever, dude.”

Mac locked himself away as fast as he could.

He was too exhausted from work the next couple of days to do anything except collapse with Charlie, beer, and the ongoing remnants of the takeout in their fridge. He didn’t get to see Trevor for four days, by which time he successfully managed not to actively murder the flowers Dennis had given him. They were doing exactly no better and no worse, which felt like a win to him.

He and Trevor walked down the street the first night they both had time and energy for it. They had landed in some area that Mac would never be caught dead standing on by himself. Trevor laid his hand on the small of Mac’s back as he leaned up to order a cheesesteak from the circle of food trucks they were in, and although Trevor muttered about some of Mac’s choice of toppings, he was smiling as Mac munched into it, messy and thrilled, five minutes later.

Mac reached for Trevor’s hand with his free one, but Trevor pulled it back. He pushed some napkins into Mac’s palm instead.

“You are _covered_ in grease,” he said.

Mac frowned, swiping at his hand. He tossed the napkin to the ground when he was done with it, reaching to wind his arm around Trevor’s waist on instinct. This was expected, a reflex more than anything. Trevor slung his own over Mac’s shoulders and lead him on down the street.

“Want to sit here for a bit while you eat?” Trevor asked, pulling him up short next to a picnic bench.

He had lured Mac over to a small, outdoor area with a cluster of public tables and he patted his shoulders as Mac sat down before he left to go order food. Trevor stroked fingers over Mac’s forearm while he waited, just watching Mac eat, and ten minutes later a woman came out and set a basket of fries down in front of him. Without asking, Mac dumped a significant amount of ketchup over them — “Oh, what the hell, Mac? That’s disgusting.” — and swiped a couple, popping them in around bites of what was left of his cheesesteak. Trevor grimaced.

They got through most of dinner before Trevor looked up, squinting at him. Mac paused, a fry halfway to his mouth.

“What?” he said.

Trevor smiled.

“You’ve got ketchup on your cheek,” he said.

“Oh.”

Mac moved to wipe his face with the back of his wrist but before he could, Trevor was there, gently cleaning the corner of his mouth off with a napkin. Mac grinned at him and stole more of his fries. He didn’t realize Trevor was watching him, gaze soft, the whole time until he glanced up to see why Trevor wasn’t reaching for more of the basket too.

Their eyes caught, and Mac pushed the food over to him in silent question. Trevor didn’t even look away from his face.

“Move in with me,” he said.

Mac paused. Slowly, he put the fry he was holding down. He carefully wiped off his hands.

“Trevor,” he sighed.

“No! No, now hold on a second. Wait,” Trevor said, holding a hand out to stop him — his pure silver watch glinted on his wrist and for some reason, his rolled-up sleeves were making Mac insane. Wear a sweater for once, Jesus. There was no need to be so formal on a date walking down the goddamn street. “I know we’ve talked about this before—”

“Yeah, we have,” Mac said, getting angrier. He slammed a fist down on the picnic table. “What are you doing? I told you, no.”

“It doesn’t make any sense!” said Trevor. “I _want_ you there more often, and your place is a piece of shit! It’s ridiculous not to just come home with me, when you can be, when I know that you _want_ to be! It would be so much simpler. You can be there when I get home, we can see each other more often. Don’t you want that? Don’t—”

“It’s not about that!” Mac insisted. “I work near my apartment, Trevor. Public transport takes forever, it doesn’t make any sense for me to live an hour away.”

“But you don’t _have_ to work,” Trevor insisted. He lurched forward, fumbling with Mac’s hand. Mac didn’t help, but he let Trevor slide their fingers together anyway. “You know that.”

Mac frowned.

“I don’t want to have this goddamned argument again,” he said at last.

He extricated his hand from Trevor’s and slouched over his cheesesteak, finishing off the last couple of bites and avoiding raising his head. He could feel Trevor watching the side of his face but ignored him until he was completely done. He licked some of the mess off his fingers, still fixed steadfastly on the grass, before reaching to crumple up another napkin. Trevor crossed his arms across his chest — a bad sign, but it just kind of pissed Mac off tonight, for some reason. He said to let it go. Couldn’t Trevor listen to him? For _once_?

“Well, I hate having it just as much as you do,” Trevor said, and he sounded so short and frustrated that Mac bristled. As though _he_ had any right to be mad right now? As if he hadn’t picked this fight himself? “But here we fucking find ourselves. _Again_.”

“You brought it up!” said Mac. “You’re the one who wanted to talk about it! I had no problem letting this quietly fester beneath the surface for fifteen to twenty years and never, even once, look at it directly, but _no_! You want to talk, so we’re talking.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” said Trevor, lurching across the table toward him. His voice dropped lower; in a hiss, he added, “You’re causing a scene.”

Mac glanced between the fist clenched on the table between them and Trevor’s furious expression. He didn’t get to be mad about how Mac reacted to getting pushed around. If Trevor wanted a scene, if he expected Mac to embarrass him in some way —

“So what?” Mac yelled, getting back from the picnic table as fast as he possibly could without tripping. “So goddamn what? You’re the one who’s _pressuring_ me—”

“We have been together for almost four fucking years—” Trevor shouted right back. He got to his feet much more gracefully, but the fists pounded on the table were just as angry as Mac. “—and you _still_ , still don’t want a real commitment, Mac!”

“ _How_ am I being afraid of commitment right now?” he demanded. “Three years I’m with you, I come home to you four days a week, I don’t step out with anybody else—” He thought it was perhaps best not to mention that he had been sorely wanting to every now and then, although frankly his steadfast devotion in _spite_ of temptation made him, like, stronger and more better because of it, better than Adam and Eve even, and they were _first_ and were supposed to be perfect, so really all of that should count in his favor but whatever, “I watch your dog for you, I never complain about all your late nights—”

“Never comp — Mac, you bitch every single fucking night about how you want to talk to me before bed but can’t because I’m working!”

Mac rolled his eyes, his cheeks darkening.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because that proves my point!” he said, brandishing a finger at Trevor’s chest. “Because it’s been three years and I still want to talk to you at the end of every day!”

“I’d feel a lot more swayed by that argument if you didn’t directly _disprove_ it, by nature of refusing to move in with me!” said Trevor. “If you _really_ felt that way, why wouldn’t you want to _be_ there at the end of every day? You could talk to me every night — Every morning and most afternoons, too, if you wanted!”

Mac paused, mouth still propped open for a fight, blinking at him instead; after an awkward pause he spluttered, waving his hands in the air between them.

“I — God, just stop smothering me!” he yelled finally. “I feel like you’re always goddamn smothering me!”

“ _I’m_ smothering _you_?”

Mac stopped cold. Trevor did too, watching him with something new in his face. His eyes rarely went that wide.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Mac asked lowly.

“I — That’s not what I meant,” said Trevor, coming toward him with his hands outstretched, trying to stroke down Mac’s arms. Classic move: When Mac’s upset, bowl forward until you’ve got him surrounded. It would start with fingers on his bicep and end with him in a crushing hug, and then who knew what might happen next.

But Mac didn’t want to be calmed down out of this. For once, getting closer was not the most inviting option at cost to everything else.

“Don’t,” he said, recoiling. Trevor froze, arms falling. Mac took another step back. “I…don’t want to do this anymore.”

He straightened. “What?”

“I’m done,” said Mac. “You’re right, I _don’t_ want to keep finding myself in this fight with you over, and over, and _over_ , and _over_. I don’t want to keep doing this over and over. But it’s just gonna keep happening, won’t it?”

“Mac,” said Trevor, the way that one might command a dangerous but misbehaving animal. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want!”

“Okay,” said Trevor, hand outstretched again, but this time it was different: begging him not to spook. “Just…wait a minute, Mac. We can talk this through. We can figure out a way through this. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, we can work something out.”

“I don’t _want_ to work something out,” said Mac. “There can only be one winner here! Either you hear me — _actually_ hear me, for once — or you don’t.”

Trevor blinked at him. “Woah, when did it become about _that_?”

“Uh, what the hell are you talking about?” said Mac. “It’s always been about that!”

“I thought this was about where you’re gonna be _living_ ,” said Trevor, imploring. “A choice between a rat-infested one-bedroom with your best friend on your couch, or an _actual_ house, with an _actual_ yard, and a full staff of cleaning crew on board and your _boyfriend_ of nearly four years!”

“In the suburbs!” said Mac. “You want me to leave the city?”

“So it _is_ about that!” said Trevor, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. “At least a little bit?”

Mac sighed with his entire body.

“Why does it _matter_?” he implored.

“It matters because I’d like to know what the hell you’re breaking up with me for! If you don’t mind!” Trevor paused, breathing harder than before as he tentatively caught Mac’s eye. Quieter, as though it hadn’t previously occurred to him, he asked, “Is that — what’s happening? Are you breaking up with me?”

Mac floundered uselessly for a moment before answering. It was enough: Trevor’s expression shuddered over.

“Oh,” he said in a new, much worse voice. “I see. This has much, much more to do with something else than I thought.”

Mac’s mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked guardedly.

“This isn’t about living with me, or liking the city, or me not listening to you, or any of that. Is it?” Trevor asked. He frowned, studying Mac anew. “You’re just not happy here. With me, I mean.”

Mac took a step forward.

“Wait, I…What?” He shook his head. “That’s way off—”

“Yeah…Yeah, you’re unhappy with me,” said Trevor, nodding as he built steam with this new theory. “So now you’re looking for any excuse out! Oh, Mac. You don’t have to try so hard. If you’d just _told_ me, maybe we could have worked out how to fix it and—”

“I said I don’t want to compromise!” Mac shouted. Deflating, he tacked on, “And that’s not what this is, it wouldn’t have—”

“Yeah, when I thought you were genuinely choosing rats over me!” said Trevor. “But it’s about something different, isn’t it? What else is holding you back?”

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on!” Mac shouted.

Trevor paused, studying his face. Mac’s tried to slow his breathing.

“How long?” Trevor asked eventually — and again he sounded different, quieter, sadder, and his mood swings made something simultaneously hurting and angry lick up the inside of Mac’s stomach. All of this jumping around, Mac was having a difficult time keeping up.

“How long…since what?”

“How long have you been having these feelings?” Trevor asked. He glanced around, awkwardly; they were still in the middle of all these tables where people were eating, and he reached his arm out. “Come on, come here. Can we walk?”

Mac looked around too. He wanted, just for a minute, to refuse, to tell Trevor to suck it up and not feel so ashamed of his dirty laundry. But Trevor’s forehead pinched together and Mac capitulated with a sigh, following him onto the sidewalk. They picked a direction, seemingly at random — at least, Mac had no set destination where they were going, but they started walking at the same time without talking about it. Trevor was studying the sidewalk, hands deep in his pockets. Mac swallowed.

“So?” Trevor asked, peeking a glance to the side. Mac frowned, and he elaborated, “How long, Mac?”

“I told you,” said Mac. “I’m _not_ unhappy! I like being with you, Trevor. When I’m actually _with_ you.”

This last part, he added in a mutter; Trevor reanimated wildly to point at him.

“See?” he said. “See, that right there!”

“Oh, what?” said Mac. “You just admitted that you work a lot—”

“Okay, stop. Stop,” said Trevor, waving his hands. “We’re not going back to this. I mean, Jesus Christ, Mac.” He sounded so _wounded_ ; Mac paused, watching him warily. “Three years? And you still can’t talk to me?”

Mac scowled at the ground.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mumbled at last. Trevor made a distressed noise, and Mac groaned, yanking at his hair. “What? What? You wanted me to be honest: I don’t know what you want, Trevor!”

Trevor looked at him for a long moment. Mac watched him back, steady but unsure; he got to see the moment Trevor’s expression hardened, steeling over with something that looked startingly like resentment. Mac opened his mouth, no real idea in his head what he wanted to say but desperate to say _something_ , but before he could, Trevor did first.

“God. _God_ ,” he said. “So this is how it ends, huh? Really? All this time and you’re just gonna stonewall me, then act like it’s all my fault?”

“Shut up,” Mac snapped, although it came out much weaker than he would have preferred. “Don’t act like you’re some little innocent victim here, okay? Like having me around was such a _burden_ that _Saint Trevor_ had to clean up and pity! Like I’m just some ungrateful brat. Okay? Don’t do that.”

“Then don’t act like one,” Trevor snapped, and Mac froze. Trevor’s expression crumpled. “Wait — I didn’t mean that. Mac, I didn’t mean that—”

Mac had stopped walking.

“Wow,” he said, crossing his arms. “Wow, okay. So that’s how it is?”

He took a step backwards. Trevor didn’t reach out this time, but he looked equal parts pained and still angry; Mac would have no idea where to begin to soothe it, even if he tried. Even if he wanted.

“Mac…” he said, shaking his head.

Mac watched him for a while, swallowing around the sudden stone in his throat.

“I’m going home,” Mac said at last. “See you around, I guess.”

He turned around and walked back the way they’d come, growing brisker the farther he went without Trevor calling out to him or following. Eventually he turned a corner, and the last not-quite-hope that he might come after him shuttered over. Mac sighed, forehead creased angrily. He shoved his hands in his pockets and routed his way back home.

“Hey,” said Charlie, grinning, when Mac pushed the door open so hard that it crashed into the wall. “You’re home early. Hey — What’s wrong?”

Mac didn’t even look at him. He strode right past and slammed shut his bedroom door.

Mac cracked another couple of beers for the two of them and set Charlie’s down on the coffee table. Charlie grabbed it as soon as he was done handing Mac back his controller.

“You don’t have anywhere to be tonight?” Charlie asked.

Mac hardly glanced at him, busy picking a course for Mario Kart.

“Huh?”

“This is, like, the third night in a row you’ve stayed in with me when we didn’t have work,” said Charlie. “Oh, you fucker. Don’t start before I’m ready.”

“Pay attention, bitch,” Mac sneered, throwing his entire body to the side to help his character go around a turn. “I’m sorry, did you need the apartment to yourself for the night, your highness? Got a cache of friends that I don’t know about, you want them over for a party and don’t want me around spoiling your reputation?”

He laughed. Charlie elbowed him in the arm, grinning too.

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just meant, usually you spend nights off at Trevor’s. You guys been fighting or something?”

Mac sobered abruptly. Keeping his eyes steadily on the TV, he said, as neutrally as he could manage, “Something like that.”

“What about?” said Charlie, one lap later when they were done trying to shove each other off the couch for throwing red shells. “He try to replace your entire closet again?”

Mac snorted.

“No. I wish,” he said. “Uh — actually, we broke up.”

Charlie sat up, staring at him. He seemed to forget about the game entirely for a second, and his avatar careened straight into the water.

“ _What_?” said Charlie. “Oh, man, that sucks!”

Mac shrugged. “Yeah.”

“He was probably the hottest lay you’ll ever get,” said Charlie. Mac rolled his eyes, relaxing instinctually. “And also he paid for half our rent, so that _really_ blows. Oh, man. Mac, you son of a bitch. I can’t believe you ruined that for us!”

“Woah, I didn’t ruin anything!” said Mac indignantly. He paused the game, sitting up to glare at Charlie. “Why do you assume he dumped me?”

“Didn’t he?”

“No!”

“Really?” he said, arching a skeptical brow.

“Yes, really, you son of a bitch!” Mac slugged him on the shoulder. “ _I_ left _him_. You dick.”

“Okay, Jesus Christ, man. Relax.” Charlie rubbed his arm, slumping into the couch.

“Whatever,” said Mac. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Can we just play the stupid game and get drunk?”

“Yeah,” said Charlie, holding up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, fine. We don’t have to talk.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Mac grabbed his controller, sinking back into his seat. He could feel Charlie sneaking furtive glances, and ignored them. They played in silence — sans for the friendly death threats that naturally accompanied games of Mario Kart — for another couple of tournaments, drinking their way through three more beers apiece. Mac was just beginning to feel pleasantly light and nearly drunk while they bickered over which one of them got to main DK.

“So, you really dumped the guy right after your three-and-a-half-year anniversary?” said Charlie.

Mac’s thumb stuttered, the joystick slipping out from beneath it.

“What?”

“Nothing, just,” Charlie spread his hands, “you look forward to that shit so much, dude. I’m just surprised.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” Mac reminded him tightly.

“I know, I know.” He nodded agreeably enough, but he still added, “And right after he gave you those nice flowers too, man. Brutal. He must have been upset.”

Mac paused, and for the first time not entirely due to his frustration that this conversation was still going on.

“What?” he asked, turning to look at Charlie. “He never gave me any flowers.”

“Yeah, remember? Like, last week you stepped out for a second and came back carrying that vase filled with all these nice flowers,” said Charlie. “You seemed happy, you always wanted him to do shit like that. Why dump him now? He’s finally getting the message!” Charlie nudged his wrist, jerking his head toward the screen. “Pick a course, dude, if you’re gonna insist on being player one.”

“Oh. Um, those weren’t from him,” said Mac.

Charlie glanced at him.

“What?” he asked. Mac fidgeted, tight-lipped, and Charlie’s eyes widened. “Okay, damn. Were you cheating on him? Did you have a sidepiece and you didn’t even _tell_ me? Come on, bro, what happened to best friends for life?”

He slapped Mac with the back of his hand. Mac swatted him away, rolling his eyes. His cheeks reddened.

“No, I wasn’t cheating on him, Charlie!” he said exasperatedly.

“Then who were you giving them to?”

“Nobody,” said Mac. Charlie made a face, and Mac sighed. “ _Nobody_ , I’m serious.”

“Okay,” said Charlie. “Why did you have them, then?”

“Because I just did, Charlie, okay? Drop it.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so suspicious and weird about this,” Charlie said, turning up his nose.

“It’s not a big deal, you’re just making it into one!” said Mac. “Whatever, man. Someone gave them to me to garden with, but…”

He paused. But now he had no garden, just a vase of flowers with a note attached sitting on his dresser. Nothing to do with them. Nothing to show for all the money and time he’d spent trying to learn. Just those flowers, vase, and the ribbon tied around them.

Mac sat upright.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

Charlie glanced at him from the side.

“What’s up?” he said.

“Oh, my God. I gotta go!” said Mac, scrambling up from the couch. “I’ve got something I have to do! Something — that I can do. Oh, shit. I can do that. I gotta go right now. When does the next bus come, do you know? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.”

Charlie sat up as Mac climbed to his feet. He pushed the controller from his lap.

“Wait,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“I have to _go_!” Mac called from his room, where he yanked on shoes and scrambled to find his keys. “Goddamn it! Okay, we’re good. Charlie, I’ll be back in a little while!”

“But we’re right in the middle of—!”

Mac didn’t hear the rest of his complaint as he slammed the apartment door behind him and fled down the stairs. He scrounged up exact change for a ride from the bottoms of his pockets (suddenly he was glad he’d bought candy in these same sweats last week) and made it to the bus stop in record time.

The waiting was the worst part, he thought, leg bouncing as he gripped the grab bar tight. Waiting for the bus to come. Waiting for it to trundle through the never-ending, frustrating grind of south city traffic. By the time they rolled to a stop on the outskirts of suburbia, he was jittery with bridled energy.

Mac jumped off the bus nearly as soon as the doors opened and booked it down the street. He made it to the house in ten minutes, but by then sweat was making his fringe flop over his forehead. He knocked rapidly on the front door, not at all mindful of the late hour, and pushed his hair back as he rocked back on the balls of his feet to wait. He was still in the cotton gym shorts he’d been lazing around in, and his disheveled state hadn’t bothered him before but now that he had some time, he tried to make himself more presentable. He pushed his hair back again, hoping it looked good-mussed, and straightened the shirt he was wearing. Showing up red-faced and sweaty wasn’t much of a gesture, but here he was anyway. He knocked on the door again, harder.

When it finally opened, a woman he had never seen before was standing there. She was wearing sleep pants and rubbing her eye, glaring at Mac with the other.

“What the hell do you want?” she asked. “Do you know what fucking time it is?”

This must be the sister, then. Dee or something like that.

“Is Dennis home?”

“Why?” she asked, squinting suspiciously. “Why should I tell you? Who the hell even _are_ you, anyway?”

Mac pushed past her, barreling into the house, ignoring both her yells for him to get out and her threats to call 911. People threw the word “trespassing” around too easily these days.

“Dennis!” Mac said. He made it halfway into the foyer and paused, cupping his hands over his mouth as he spun around. “Dennis?”

He ventured further into the house, still calling his name. Dee shut the door behind him and followed close behind, scolding something in his ear that he blocked out completely. When he turned on his heel again, he saw right as Dennis appeared on the top of the stairs.

He was softer than Mac had seen him yet, wearing trackpants with his hair messy and product-free. Something seemed different about his face but Mac couldn’t put his finger on it — did he have more blemishes than usual? Not that that discouraged him. If anything, it made Dennis look more real. He looked clean and young and really, really good. Mac’s stomach flipped over.

“Mac?” he asked. His hand fluttered down to the bannister. “What are you — What are you doing here? Why are you in my house? Do you know what fucking _time_ it is?”

Dee was saying something else but Mac couldn’t hear it. He stood there, hands clenching and unclenching, chest rising and falling sharply, as Dennis’s expression changed. Mac couldn’t put his finger on how, but whatever he was thinking spurred him on to descend the stairs. Time seemed to slow down significantly to a quarter speed; maybe Dennis was walking really slow, or maybe the universe just wanted to give Mac ample time to drink him in. He worked from the bottom up, sliding his eyes up Dennis’s body, landing and getting stuck on the expression on his face: unsure but determined nonetheless. He was just in a loose blue t-shirt and comfortable bottoms, but something about watching him come steadily closer like they were being drawn together by some outside force, some primal understanding passing between them — it was heady. When Dennis got to the landing, Mac finally kickstarted into motion, propelled not by any form of rational thought. Just something in the base of his spine telling him to go. He crossed the distance to Dennis and reached to cup his face in his hands, and Mac kissed him.

Dennis didn’t respond at first, mouth soft and open but stilled beneath him. Mac ducked in to press his lips to Dennis’s again, for longer this time — finally Dennis animated, hands coming to clutch Mac’s hips. He made a soft noise into Mac’s mouth, reaching, scrambling to grab the sides of his t-shirt. Dennis leaned into him, and Mac happily took some of his weight.

He pulled back to breathe after a minute, leaning his forehead on Dennis’s. Dennis’s fingers were shaky on his ribs.

“Sorry,” Mac said. He was panting but he couldn’t calm down. He just kept stroking over his back through his t-shirt, feeling out the planes of him. Dennis was so _warm_. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I should have—”

Dennis gripped the back of his shirt and pulled him in again, chin tilting up, lips melding to Mac’s. Mac stroked his jaw and sighed, as Dennis wound his arms around his neck. Every brush of his fingers through the short strands of hair at the back of Mac’s neck made his skin heat, sending shivery shocks of thrill directly down his spine.

Dennis kept doing it. And Mac cupped his face in his hands, and kept kissing him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:)](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/186824501895)


	6. flowers in bloom from morning shower

_Saturday, July 25 th:_

Mac squinted up at the clock for the sixth time in as many minutes. He was really hoping to get out of work early today, ideally before six so he had time to shoot over to the flower shop before they closed. He had an idea he wanted to put into motion sooner rather than later, but his asshole boss had been keeping him longer every day; he was pretty sure they were giving away vacation time to the guy who worked the other half of the shifts, just to rub salt in Mac’s wounds.

Mercifully, Aaron showed up twenty minutes early and when Mac asked if he didn’t mind clocking in for the last stretch of Mac’s shift, he clapped him on the back and agreed — he owed Mac a favor anyway. Mac punched out and was gone before anyone could see him.

The streets were busy this time of the afternoon, but Mac pushed his way through briskly and made it with time to spare; he puffed out his chest and strode inside.

Dennis wasn’t there, though, or at least not in the front room, and Mac’s face fell, his shoulders slumping too. Not that he was clamoring to see him or anything. Mac had just made a really good entrance for it to go to waste like that. With a sigh, he turned and started browsing the left-hand wall, flicking idly at the name cards as he rejected one after another.

“Hey, sorry about that,” came a voice, and Mac looked up. “I was just doing some work in the back, let me know if you need any — Oh. Mac.”

Dennis pulled sharply to a halt when he saw him. Mac split into a grin, but Dennis just stared.

“Hey,” said Mac.

“I…Hey,” said Dennis. He began swiftly sweeping his hands through his hair, trying to tame the helpless curls beginning to form at the top. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Oh.” Fingers drumming, Mac’s gaze skidded around the room before sliding to Dennis again. “Well, here I am.”

He abandoned the pretense of perusing flora and went up to the counter instead, leaning on his forearms over it. Dennis swallowed, gaze flicking over Mac’s face, catching for a beat too long on his mouth. Mac smiled.

“It’s good to see you,” Dennis said in a low voice, glancing up at him from beneath his lashes. He had really pretty eyes. Mac made a mental note to tell him that sometime.

For now, he flushed.

“It is?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dennis said. He leaned his elbows on the counter, hands clasped halfway across the distance between them. “I was thinking about you earlier.”

Mac’s attention jumped down to his mouth.

“You were?”

Dennis bit his lip. He nodded.

“Just wondering how your garden’s been going,” he said. His eyes seemed bigger and brighter than usual but Mac couldn’t figure out why.

After he had gone over and kissed him the other night, they hadn’t seen each other since. They’d stood in Dennis’s downstairs hallway for a good five minutes, and when they finally stopped kissing, Dennis had looked at him breathlessly while Mac stared at his pink, ajar mouth, and nobody said anything until eventually Dennis explained that he had to go to bed soon because he had an early morning and he was really, _really_ glad Mac came over but did he mind locking the door on his way out?

Mac hadn’t cared that he got kicked out, not at all. He was too busy thrilling with the new memory of the pressure of Dennis’s warm lips on his own and how Dennis couldn’t stop running his hands through Mac’s hair and down his back, even while he was telling him to leave.

Dennis had pulled him down for a much more restrained, briefer kiss before he let Mac go. He could feel Dennis’s heavy-lidded gaze on his back on the walk to the front door; the hallway felt much longer going in this direction. All the attention made his hands shake as he tried to figure out their complex system of locks. He forgot to wonder where the sister had gone until he was well on his way home, too busy listening to his rabbiting heartbeat.

Mac’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. He watched Dennis’s eyes, carefully unwavering.

“There was a slight hiccup with that, actually,” said Mac. “I’m looking for something different now.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” he said. He didn’t quite abandon the low, meaningful tone from earlier. “Like what?”

“I just need one,” said Mac. “One flower. Not a cluster of them or anything anymore. Do you have something like that?”

“Yeah,” Dennis said slowly. “I do.”

“Cool.”

His eyes were steady on Dennis’s back as he came around the counter, not just watching him but studying too. The flannel he was wearing rolled up to his elbows did nothing for his figure but if he focused, Mac could see his shoulder blades moving through the fabric. He was biting his lip when Dennis came toward him.

“Come on,” Dennis said softly, as he brushed right past him.

Mac followed hastily, too close behind but he didn’t give a shit. He could smell Dennis’s cologne from here, light but intoxicating. Mac traced the line of his collar where it lay against the top of his spine, the skin there well-tanned from the sun.

“They don’t have to be perennials either,” Mac blurted.

Dennis stopped, and Mac nearly walked into him. Muttering sorry, he fell back a couple steps, and Dennis turned around to face him.

“What? Why?”

“I told you, there was a hitch with the garden,” Mac explained. He pushed by him, grabbing Dennis’s elbow to tug him along after. “I’m gonna work on a smaller scale instead, at my place.”

Dennis was still watching him with his forehead creased, but he said, “Oh, okay.”

“So,” said Mac, pulling up short beside a random pot and clapping his hands together. “Tell me about this one!”

_Monday, July 27 th:_

Dennis sighed, leaning a hip against the counter.

“Oh come on, what’s wrong now?” he asked.

“This one’s leaves are too wrinkly,” said Mac, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t like it.”

Dennis shot him a look.

“Don’t call them leaves,” he muttered. “Come on, Mac, you’ve been here for an hour.”

“Don’t rush me,” he snapped. His gaze darted back up to Dennis, widening. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Dennis. He spread his arms, gesturing around the store. “You see anyone else clamoring for my attention?”

Mac glanced around. Actually, there was a woman who looked like she could use a little bit of help, but—

“Okay, then,” said Mac, clapping his hands together. “Then go on and show me another one, flower boy.”

“Flower boy?” Dennis asked. He looked genuinely stung.

“Flower — Flower slave. Flower bitch,” said Mac, rolling his eyes. “The name doesn’t matter! Just…You know, get to it. Show me more pretty flowers.”

Dennis snorted. He paused right after starting off again, glaring over his shoulder.

“Don’t call me the flower bitch,” he said. “I mean it.”

Mac laughed.

_Thursday, July 30 th:_

Mac kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling his timeline with one hand and holding out the other.

“ID,” said Mac.

Somebody cleared their throat. Mac frowned.

“ID, please,” he said, louder.

A pause. At the very perimeter of his vision, he noticed a foot tapping. He focused back on his phone.

“Mac!”

He looked up and jumped. Nearly fumbling his phone to the floor in his haste to shove it into his pocket, Mac tried his best not to seem too eager. He ended up smiling a lot instead.

“Dennis,” he said, lurching forward to put his hand on his shoulder. He ran it down halfway to his elbow and squeezed. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Mac,” he said, ducking his head as he grinned. “I thought I’d come by and see where you worked.”

He leaned back on his heels, eyes bright. Mac took him by the elbow and pulled him over the threshold into the bar.

“Yeah, come in!” he said. Dennis stumbled a little in his hold, patting Mac’s shoulder as he shrugged him off. “Oh, sorry. I have break in like ten minutes, can you hang out?”

Dennis jutted his chin toward the counter.

“It’s a bar, Mac.” He scanned the room. “I can keep myself occupied.”

“Okay.” Mac squeezed his elbow. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

Dennis murmured, “Yeah,” and was already drifting away toward the bartender. Mac smiled after him for a few seconds, until somebody behind him cleared their throat pointedly. Mac sighed as he turned around.

“Yes, what? Can I help you?”

Looking cowed, the man held out his ID. Mac rolled his eyes and snatched it up. 1974: Pass.

Twenty minutes later, he nudged some guy out of the way who was doing his level best to flirt with Dennis up at the bar. Mac had to jerk him back by the shoulder eventually, and he looked ready to throw a punch before he realized Mac was wearing a security t-shirt and scurried off instead.

Mac settled in, flagging the bartender over to pass him a beer.

“Hi,” said Mac. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes I am, actually.” Dennis turned to face him, leaning his cheek on his fist, propped on the counter. “But it’s even better now.”

Mac grinned.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “What’s your poison?”

Dennis tipped back the glass in his hand to examine its contents.

“Melon ball,” he said. He made a face, nose scrunching. “Little sweet for me.”

Mac grinned.

“I don’t like it too sweet, either,” Mac said cheerfully. He leaned closer to hear better over the crowd. “I usually just put whiskey in something. What do you usually get?”

Dennis laughed.

“Me?” he said. “Beer. But yeah, whiskey and whatever will do the trick if I want something stronger. You tried crème de menthe?”

“What’s that?”

“Minty,” said Dennis. He ducked so close that Mac sucked in a breath — so close that Mac could have counted the eyelashes that brushed down toward his cheek, were he not so concerned with the shape of Dennis’s mouth. “But very tasty.”

Mac nodded seriously.

“Ever had a Kamikaze?” he said. “Vodka, sweet but not too sweet. Could be right up your alley.”

Dennis’s lips were parted as he looked Mac over.

“I will,” he said. He glanced down at his drink again. “Although, guess I don’t want to mix brown and clear tonight.”

“I think that’s an old wives’ tale, bro.”

They looked at each other for a long time. Dennis rolled his eyes.

“What do you know?” he said at last. He drank more of his glass. “Big man thinks he’s got facts. Thinks he’s so smart.”

Grinning, Mac leaned forward eagerly, but before he could say any more, two hands slapped down on the back of his shoulders and started drumming along with the bass of the song playing on the jukebox. Mac recognized that beat.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Charlie squeezed into the space beside Mac’s seat, slinging an arm around him. Dennis eyed the two of them and leaned back.

“What’s up, man?” said Charlie. His gaze flickered over Dennis. “Oh, who’s this? Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to blow up your spot.”

“Charlie!” Mac hissed.

“It’s fine.” Dennis nodded over Mac’s shoulder. “I’m Dennis. I’m his florist.”

“His — what?”

Mac glanced to the side at him.

“You know the garden I’ve been working on?” he said, hoping that he wouldn’t have to prompt any further.

“Oh, yeah,” said Charlie. “Oh! Yeah. That’s cool. I’m his roommate.”

“Nice,” said Dennis.

“So,” said Charlie. “Uh, did you just….did you run into each other by accident, or were you—”

“Charlie,” Mac said.

“Yeah?”

“Could you get out of here, please?” he said, looking pointedly around at the rest of the room. There were many open spaces where Charlie could easily fit, and as far as Mac was concerned, he should go occupy any one of them. Anywhere but here.

“Come on, Mac,” he complained. “We don’t get another break for hours, and you promised you’d come help me with the instructions for that thing I’m doing for the waitress—”

“I’m busy, Charlie. We can do it later.”

Charlie frowned.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise!” said Mac.

Charlie squinted at him, assessing; after a few seconds he nodded and squeezed himself out from between barstools.

“Nice to meet you,” Dennis called. As he turned back to Mac, he grinned, even in the face of Mac scowling.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s fine.” Dennis waved his hand through the air. “Buy me another round?”

Mac edged closer. “Sure.”

He took five extra minutes on his break than he was meant to, but how was he supposed to resist how Dennis leaned into him when he laughed, hanging breathless on Mac’s shoulder? Besides, he’d been drinking. He needed the extra time to sober up so he’d be better at his job.

Dennis’s hand slid across the small of his back as Mac got up from his barstool, pouting apologetically.

“I have to get back,” Mac said. “I’m glad you stopped by, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Dennis. He tipped his head, looking Mac over. “Walk me to my car?”

Mac studied him. At last, he said, “Sure.”

He kept close to Dennis’s side as they left, ignoring the waitress they’d temporarily sent to take over his spot at the door. She shouted after him as he squeezed by her, muttering to hold on for one goddamn second.

Mac recognized Dennis’s car parked a little ways down the block. They didn’t speak, barely looked at each other aside from a few sidelong glances. Mac strode ahead of him to pull open the driver’s side door. Dennis touched the handle, turning toward him to smile.

“Thanks,” he said. Mac nodded, but Dennis didn’t climb into the car. “Um. I have something for you.”

Mac’s eyebrows pulled together.

“Really? What?”

“I’ll confess I didn’t stop by just to see you,” said Dennis. He ducked into his car, making a lot of noise as he twisted to get at his backseat. Mac frowned. “I actually wanted to give you something. I found the perfect new addition to the miniature garden that’s growing in your room now.”

“Oh,” said Mac, brow creasing. “Thanks, Dennis. But I could have just gotten it whenever I next came by the shop.”

The rustling in the backseat stopped. Slowly, Dennis stuck his head up, peeking over the door Mac was still holding.

“I know,” he said. More of his face came into view, more than just his eyes. “I just thought — Well, anyway, I was over here and I had it on hand.”

He slapped the roof over the backseat, and Mac peered through the window. He could see neat rows of boxes filled with dirt, tiny fresh sprouts just barely popped out, neatly stacked all over the seats. Dennis’s smile was beginning to slip from his face.

“Well…I’m glad you did,” said Mac.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s sweet,” said Mac. He held out both hands. “Gimme.”

Dennis laughed, his worry finally clearing entirely from his face; Mac thrilled. This was a much better look on him, in Mac’s personal opinion.

“ _Gimme_?” Dennis said.

“Yeah. Gimme my present.”

Rolling his eyes couldn’t hide Dennis’s smile, and he passed the flower over. Mac was beaming as he examined his new prize, purple with pink on the inside, and he leaned down to sniff it. When he looked up, Dennis was propped on the car and watching him.

“What is it this time?” asked Mac.

“That there is what’s called a sweet pea,” said Dennis, folding his arms on the open door and swinging it, gently, back and forth with his body. “Little smaller than the last one, but pretty as all hell.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mac murmured, twirling the stem.

Dennis watched him for a minute; Mac could feel it on the side of his face, and the full weight of his stare was even more intense than anticipated when Mac glanced up to meet it. He swallowed and looked back down.

“So, I’d better get going,” said Dennis, letting go of the door. “And you should probably go back to work, too.”

“Oh! Right. Yep, you said. I should. We both — should,” said Mac. “Um. I’ll keep this safe ‘til my shift’s over.”

He patted the stem to his chest. Dennis smiled.

“Cool. It was good to see you,” he said.

“You too.”

Dennis slid into the driver’s seat, and Mac shut his door for him. He patted the top of the car and stepped back onto the curb as Dennis peeled out and sped down the street, honking no less than three times at people that he cut off first. Mac snorted, watching him until he was gone.

He carefully stowed the flower in his locker in the back room before going back to work.

_Saturday, August 1 st:_

Dennis folded his arms over the counter, smiling, coaxing.

“You sure you don’t need anything else?” he asked. “Just the one for you?”

Mac had already been here for over an hour. He had come in on a very simple errand but somehow Dennis had distracted him for forty-five minutes in an argument about climate change and whether or not it was bullshit and/or God’s wrath, so really it was his fault that Mac had wound up drinking coffee in the back while Dennis perched on the desk, kicking at his knees whenever Mac told a bad joke.

He’d only finally remembered to head outside when the phone in front started ringing, and several minutes sitting in the back office alone started to make him feel really uncomfortable. Dennis was magnetized back to him within minutes of getting off the phone — and he touched Mac’s back again for balance when he reached for a planter in the back row, making warmth flood all the way up his spine. It was a good visit.

“Nope, that’s it,” said Mac.

“You sure?” Dennis wheedled. “Don’t you have a few extra hours? I could use some help moving some inventory in the back.”

“You want me to stick around to give you free labor?” said Mac, with a laugh.

Dennis’s expression twisted strangely. He looked significantly less playful when he said,

“It’s not about the free labor, Mac.” Something in his voice sounded strangely serious, sharp-edged underneath. “It’s — you know what, never mind.”

Mac frowned.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m…confused. So you don’t want me to lift boxes?”

Dennis watched him for a long time. The silence deepened, and so did the unpleasant twist in Mac’s chest — how was Dennis still just _staring_ at him? He was beginning to feel like he’d done something wrong.

“Jesus Christ,” Dennis muttered at last. “Whatever, man. Just give me the four seventy-five and—”

“Wait, woah, woah. Wait!” Mac held out both hands to slow him down and that worked, to a degree; Dennis trailed off, brow knitting tighter and tighter, hand clenching until he shoved it out of sight. “Are you mad at me? What for?”

“What for? Are you serious?” Dennis snapped. He shut his eyes, turning away from him. “Come on, Mac! You _kissed_ me.”

He said _kissed_ so hushed, like it was a dirty word. Mac flinched.

“Yeah, I know,” he said defensively. “I was there.”

“And you just…” Dennis trailed off. He shook his head. “You know what, forget it. Just put the money on the counter and go.”

“Dennis,” he said. There was an ache sitting low in the base of his throat, trying to crawl its way toward his mouth. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“I said fucking _go_!” said Dennis. “Go on. Get out of here!”

His cheeks were flushed red, a normally lovely color on him but Mac didn’t like the look of it now. He took a step back.

“Alright, man, alright. Jesus,” he muttered. He dug around in his pocket until he came up with exact change and tossed it down. He grabbed his buy of the day, took another tentative step back. “I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Dennis snatched up the money and stalked away. Mac swallowed, staring after him for a long moment, until Dennis slammed a planter down with enough force to crack the plastic. Mac jumped. As quietly as he could, he slipped away.

_Wednesday, August 5 th:_

“You owe me at least twenty dollars already. I’m not adding to your tab,” Dennis said.

Mac rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Come _on_ ,” he complained. “I said I’d pay you back!”

“You sure did say that,” said Dennis. “But I’ve never once, in the entire time that I’ve known you, seen you actually hand me any money for it. _No_.”

“Dennis, come on! Please?” he said. “It’s like five dollars!”

“Which is apparently more than you have!” Dennis gestured disbelievingly to Mac’s empty pockets. “How do you not have five goddamn dollars on you, Mac? Jesus, you have a job. You’re too old for this, we’re not twenty anymore.”

“I had more important things to spend it on!”

Dennis crossed his arms. “Like what?”

“Uh — Rent! _Food_ , how about that?” Mac said smugly. The fact that he had most decidedly not spent his last paycheck on bills and had, instead, bought a new pair of combat boots as well as a katana, was none of Dennis’s business.

“If you’re that pressed for money, maybe you shouldn’t be spending so much of it cultivating a dead plant collection on your windowsill!”

Mac scowled. Dennis set his hands on his hips, giving him a _Well, am I wrong?_ look that made Mac want to throw one of his stupid planters to the ground and watch it shatter. Before he could make a move, though, Dennis sighed. The disbelieving expression softened too.

“Okay, fine,” Dennis said. “ _One_ more purchase on your tab, but then that’s it! No more after this, not until you start paying me back.”

Mac pressed his lips together and nodded complacently in the face of Dennis’s brandished finger. Dennis watched him, eyes narrowed, for a moment; then he broke into an incredulous smile.

“Can’t goddamn believe you talked me into this,” Dennis muttered, shaking his head.

Mac watched him, silent. Dennis gave him back the flower.

_Thursday, August 6 th:_

“Are you sure you should be showing me this?” Mac asked, running his hands down his thighs to try and wipe them clean of sweat.

Dennis tossed a disbelieving look over his shoulder.

“Would you relax?” Dennis sneered. “It’s my fucking plant distributor, not the head of some drug ring.”

“At least I’d feel more fucking comfortable at one of those!” Mac hissed, shuffling closer to him so he could talk right in his ear. “I feel like they can tell.”

“Tell what?”

“That I’m not a florist, dude!” He glanced around anxiously. One of the workers made direct eye contact with him and he hastily turned his head away. “They can probably smell my fear.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Dennis. “Just — Stop panicking, Mac, Jesus. You’re just assisting me on a very necessary work errand. It’s not a federal crime.”

“Okay,” said Mac, wringing his hands. “I’m gonna stay close to you, just in case.”

“You go ahead and do that,” said Dennis, reaching back to pat Mac’s shoulder. “Now come on, help me pick new stock. Told you, there’s a free purchase in it for you.”

Mac squinted at him.

“Any flower I want?”

“Any flower you want,” he swore.

“Hmm…Okay,” Mac said cautiously. He grabbed Dennis’s upper arm, curling close enough to nearly trip over each other’s feet. “Lead the way.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. He pulled Mac off his arm by encircling his wrist, and tugged him along. At least he didn’t try to let him go completely.

Mostly Dennis used him for muscle, as far as Mac could tell. Dennis piled bouquet after bouquet into Mac’s arms after the basket they’d brought filled up, until Mac couldn’t help but wonder whether they were restocking his entire inventory.

“Do you really need another one of these?” Mac asked. “You already grabbed three.”

“I know what I’m doing,” said Dennis. “Which one of us is the professional here? Let’s get this stuff up to the register, it’s gonna take a while to load into the car and I have shit to do at three.”

“So you’re not in the mood to get lunch?” said Mac.

Dennis nearly dropped his handful of flowers. He cleared his throat, but he was still facing away from him, so Mac couldn’t see his face. After a pause, Dennis strode off without him. Mac floundered, watching him go.

When they were loading his terrifyingly expensive order into his car, Dennis turned another wrapped bundle over to check the label before tossing it in the trunk on the already-substantial pile laying there.

“So, you see anything you like?” Dennis asked.

“What?” said Mac, glancing up. “Oh, the flowers? You wanted me to…I should pick from the flowers we got today.”

Mac nodded, reaching in to turn over a bundle at random.

“Well, you don’t have to,” said Dennis, pulling Mac’s wrist back. “I just meant if you liked one, you could take it. But you can pick from what I already have at the store too, that’s fine.”

Mac perused the choices in front of him.

“I don’t mind this one,” he said eventually, reaching out to pluck one from a bundle.

It was a very pretty shade of blue — he rolled it over, examining its patterns up close and personal, and was just about to ask Dennis to elaborate on it when something else caught his eye.

“Ooh,” Mac breathed. “This one looks crazy! What is this?”

“That?” said Dennis, inching closer. He took the pink flower right out of Mac’s hand and twirled it. “This one’s a hyacinth. You’ve seen these before, I know you have.”

Mac shook his head slowly, side to side.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t remember that.”

“I _promise_ you that you have,” said Dennis. “I remember talking to you about it.”

“I would definitely remember that,” said Mac. “I know everything in my garden!”

Dennis gave him a weird look.

“Well, anyway,” he said, before Mac could argue or ask what he meant by that. “You like it?”

“I…I mean, yeah,” said Mac, frowning. “But I didn’t mean to…these were expensive, bro.”

He shifted. Dennis reached out to jostle his shoulder.

“Stop thinking about that,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be factoring that in! Do you like it or not?”

“Yeah! Yes,” he said, nodding. “I like it, I — I want it.”

“Good,” Dennis said, very self-satisfied. “Take it.”

He thrust the flower out, and Mac looked down at it, swallowing. He plucked it free from the pinch of Dennis’s fingers with his heart fluttering. Time and again they had done this, and his stomach still flipped like crazy when their hands brushed because Dennis was giving him — no, _handing_ him what he had already bought. Although today, the debt had been paid in time spent together. So he hadn’t really bought anything.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a good salesman and his loyal, paying customer. Doing normal business deals together. Things Dennis probably did with every patron.

Mac sucked in a breath and snatched his arm back, still clutching his flower. Dennis split into a grin. He reached out to brush a couple knuckles over the back of Mac’s hand, running over his curled fingers.

“Not too tight,” said Dennis. “Don’t wanna snap the stem before you even get it home.”

Dennis’s eyes were pretty, crinkling when he smiled like that. Mac watched them as he nodded, breathless. He was fresh out of anything to say.

Mac steepled his fingers together, sat on the edge of his bed intently watching the vase on his dresser. He ran the count through again. Ten, eleven, twelve. Six that he’d bought to add to the six that Dennis had originally given him, although that half looked significantly closer to dead given that they were a month old.

He had replaced the ribbon that had been tied around the glass, instead wrapping the base in plastic like he usually saw at the store. The cards that had been attached lay flat beside it. There was nothing more to do.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he reached out to pull the business card closer. He turned his phone over in his other hand, thumb running over all the buttons when he flipped it open. He could do this. No big deal. Just dial a couple of numbers and talk. All things that he did on a regular basis. He knew how to do this, move his hands and open his mouth.

Shit.

He quickly hit send before he could think any more and psych himself out, and then it was ringing. His heart was hammering so hard; he only managed one calming recitation of which jersey number belonged to which member of the Eagles before the ringing cut out, and Dennis’s voice in his ear said, “South Philly Florist.”

“H — Hey, Den.” He coughed. “Um, hey Dennis. It’s me. It’s Mac.”

Even his laughter sounded beautiful. Especially this close in his ear.

“Yeah, I know how your voice sounds, Mac,” said Dennis. God, he even liked the way he said his name. “What’s up?”

Mac opened his mouth, choked. Said instead, “What? You gave me your card.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” said Dennis. “It’s just that you’ve never called me before.”

“First time for everything.”

“Well, now it’s got me curious. How can I possibly help?” He only sounded slightly sarcastic.

Something shifted, Mac could hear it crackling over the line. Dennis was busy on the other end, of course he was, given that it was the middle of a work day and Mac had interrupted business hours, so naturally he had things to do. Probably he wasn’t even paying attention to what Mac was saying, only half listening to this conversation — Mac had to get back his full attention.

“So, I just wanted to call—” he said, jolting forward before he had a place to go. “Um.”

 _How_ had this gone smoother in his head? He couldn’t remember what exactly he had meant to say, what he had rehearsed time and again until it actually began to sound halfway decent. None of his notes were panning out.

More shuffling on the other end of the phone, and Dennis’s voice was clearer, less distracted and less muffled, when it came through again.

“Mac? Are you there?”

“Yeah! Yes. I’m here,” said Mac. “Sorry. I just…I wanted to ask…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Dennis, do you wanna come out with me? Do you wanna — do you want to go out with me? Like…to go on a date? With me? Do you wanna?”

He buried his face in his free hand. That could not have come out any worse.

And Dennis wasn’t saying anything.

“Dennis?” he prompted after a minute. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Mac, I heard you,” he said. His voice sounded new and strange. Hushed. Like he’d been knocked off his feet.

“Well?” he asked. “Do you want to get drinks still or not?”

Mac worked to unclench his fist, and realized Dennis’s business card was crushed for good inside of it. His palms were sweating. He threw the ruined card down and wiped them hastily on his pants.

“What…um, what about your boyfriend?” Dennis asked with the same carefully constructed nonchalance. “How would your boyfriend feel about you doing something like that? What happened to that?”

Mac paused.

“Who?”

“Uh, the guy with the garden?” said Dennis. “The whole reason you didn’t want to go out with me before? The keeper of all your shitty excuses about ethics. That boyfriend.”

“Oh! Oh, shit. You mean Trevor,” said Mac. He dragged his fingers back through his hair. “Yeah, we — we broke up. We broke up last month.”

Dennis gave a small, shocked noise.

“That’s good,” he said. He still sounded cautious. “That’s really good, I never liked him.”

Mac laughed, surprised.

“You never even met him,” he said.

“Well, you told me all about him.” Dennis sniffed. “And I’ve seen his house. Everyone knows, once you see a man’s home, you can see right into all the ugly depths of his brain.”

“I’ve been to _your_ house,” said Mac.

“I…Well, that’s not…That’s completely different,” he snapped. “My house doesn’t say anything about me, it says something about my _parents_.”

“Okay, jeez. Whatever,” he said, but privately he thought that house or no house, he was catching on to Dennis either way. The guy was not as mysterious as he wanted people to think. Confusing? Eager to make things as difficult as possible? Yes. But he wasn’t complex. He was complicated for all the dumbest reasons.

Mac’s hands were dryer now. He got up from his bed and tossed the ruined business card in his trash.

“So, is that a yes to going on a date?” he said.

Dennis let out a breathless laugh, soft and sweet in Mac’s ear.

“Sure,” he said. “Yeah, why not. Drinks sound nice.”

Mac was smiling too widely. He felt ridiculous standing alone in his room looking like this.

“Good,” he said. “Good. Pick me up tomorrow night at seven. You remember my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, and Mac could hear the smile in his voice, quiet though it was. “Yeah, Mac, I remember.”

“Great.” Now that they had gotten that done, Mac felt weirdly incredible. If he could ask Dennis out and get him to say yes, then he could take on Terminator in a fight. He could attack Rambo or kick Charlie’s ass at pool. He could do anything. “Cool, that’s good.”

“Yep,” said Dennis. A lilt of amusement ran through his voice, making Mac’s stomach flip over again. “Sure is.”

“Very awesome,” Mac heard himself say. God, he had to stop talking soon. He was so close to the finish line, too close to fumble now. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“You will see me tomorrow,” he agreed.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Dennis was definitely laughing now.

“I’m excited,” Mac admitted in a rush. “Bye, Dennis.”

He hung up before Dennis could say anything back, but that didn’t matter, Mac thought, a rush of giddiness washing through him. He had called him, and he had asked Dennis out, and Dennis had said yes. Tomorrow night Dennis was going to pick him up in his car again, his very badass car that he looked sexy driving, and they were going to have drinks, and if Mac was as cool and suave and alluring as he intended to be, he was going to get to kiss him again. In the next twenty-four hours he might get to kiss him again.

Mac sunk back down to the edge of his bed, phone crushed in his fist. He couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [x](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/187030967445)


	7. glow pink like a summer shower

He had been watching the clock since five. By some merciful grace of God, he’d somehow finally made it all the way to ten past seven — he was calming himself with beers and the crime show Charlie happened to be binging, some truly awful procedural that used a lot of fancy words, most of which he was pretty sure had been made up on the spot. The detectives were just finding a severed head stuck in a tree when Mac’s phone rang and he jumped, hand flying to his pocket. He nearly tore a hole in his pants yanking it free.

“Hello? Dennis?”

“Hey-o,” said Dennis. “I’m outside.”

“Great,” said Mac. “You wanna come up for a beer? Did you park?”

After a contemplative pause, Dennis said, “Yeah, sure, I can swing a beer. I’ll be up in five.”

Mac relayed the apartment number and told him to come on up. Charlie turned to look at him.

“Date’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna come on up really quick for a beer,” Mac said. “That cool?”

Charlie shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said. “Who is this guy, do I know him? Have you told me about this one?”

“You met him,” said Mac. “My flower guy, remember? He came to the bar last month?”

“Oh! Right,” said Charlie. “Well, nice one.”

Mac settled more smugly into his seat. He _had_ done nicely.

A few minutes later, the knock came on the door. Mac sprung up, calling, “I’ll get it!” and Dennis was grinning when Mac opened up for him.

“Hey,” said Dennis.

Before Mac could move, he darted over the entryway and pressed his lips to Mac’s cheek. Mac froze. Dennis’s stride didn’t stop — already he had swept past him to wrestle off his top layer and get a good look around.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” Mac asked, taking Dennis’s jacket from him to hang up by the door.

“Do you and your friend…share the bedroom?” Dennis asked in an undertone, jabbing a thumb toward one of only two doors in the place, the other of which led to the bathroom.

“Charlie sleeps on the pullout,” said Mac. He guided Dennis further inside with a hand on his arm. Lowering his voice, ducking closer to brush his lips by Dennis’s ear, he added, “Don’t worry. My door is one hundred percent lockable.”

Dennis glanced at him, a sly smile stretching his face.

“And that’s something that should concern me? You think it’s going to?” he asked. Mac reddened. Dennis was so close that he could easily elbow Mac in the side, rolling his eyes. “I just thought it was a little weird that you guys were sharing, that’s all.”

“Well, we aren’t,” said Mac. He pushed Dennis down to the couch. “Heineken or PBR?”

“Whichever,” Dennis said, waving his hand breezily. “Whatever you’re having. Hey, is this that new cop show on ABC? _Nice_ , I love this one.”

The last part was directed mostly at Charlie. Floundering for a moment, his mouth opening and closing uselessly, Mac finally wrenched himself away from just sort of fluttering his hands around Dennis’s shoulders and dispatched to the kitchen.

He was glad for a moment alone. He didn’t realize he’d need a few calming breaths this badly but he felt glad to take them, especially when he slugged back a couple good mouthfuls of PBR along with them.

Dennis grabbed for his beer when Mac squeezed by him to throw himself down in between him and Charlie. Charlie grimaced, batting at Mac’s leg until he leaned back so he could finished what he had been saying to Dennis; Mac’s fingers tightened around the can he was holding until the metal dented, a clean line above the rest of the beer.

The episode ended, and Dennis clapped his hand down over Mac’s knee and squeezed.

“We should get going, right?” he said, apparently unaware that the spot where his hand lay felt radioactive to Mac, warmth and something raw but electric spidering from the place they were touching. He was just watching Mac, expectant.

Mac swallowed.

“Yep,” he said. He pushed Dennis on the arm until he got the message and stood up, making room for Mac to scoot out too. “I’m getting hungry. Charlie, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Great seeing you again, man,” said Dennis. When he reached out a fist, Charlie, incredibly, bumped it. Mac stared. “Although we didn’t get a chance to talk much the first time. It was cool hanging out.”

“Yeah, yeah. For sure,” he said, waving vaguely. “See you both later.”

“You gonna be home?” asked Mac. “Later tonight?”

“Maybe. Might pick up a shift just because, I got my eye on a new hot plate that I’m saving up for.”

“They’re like, twenty bucks at the kitchen store,” said Dennis, frowning.

“Don’t judge me,” said Charlie. “You don’t know me. Do not come into my house and judge me.”

“It’s not a house, it’s a goddamn apartment,” Dennis pointed out.

Mac pushed Dennis behind him, getting in between the two of them to head off what he was sure could be padded onto to make a very substantial argument. If Charlie knew how to do anything, it was how to escalate a situation. The last thing Mac needed was Dennis getting waylaid into that — not this soon, anyway.

“Alright, alright. Jesus,” said Mac. “Let’s go, now. Let’s go.”

“Later, bitches,” said Charlie.

Dennis rolled his eyes. Feeling antsy, Mac went and retrieved his coat for him, mostly just for something to do — Dennis did get distracted when Mac folded it over his arm for him, turning to catch Mac’s eye and softening into a smile.

“Okay?” Mac said cautiously. Dennis breathed a laugh. “Okay, we’re good.”

He shrugged on a jacket of his own and let Dennis out first, shooting Charlie a nasty look right before he shut the door behind them. Dennis was finishing zipping up his sweater when Mac turned, and he pushed his hands into his pockets — so much for that, Mac thought sourly. Dennis jerked his head toward the staircase, and Mac followed him down onto the street.

The restaurant had a brief wait, but they plowed through another beer apiece at the bar before their names got called. Mac had rehearsed this — concentrating very hard on the list he and Charlie had made of good things to do on a date, he pulled out Dennis’s chair before taking his own, and poured Dennis a glass of wine first when the bottle came out. Going out with someone new was a lot more work than he remembered, after a three-and-a-half-year relationship. He wasn’t used to having to think this much.

“But you must do _something_ else,” Dennis said, halfway through cutting up the large salad sprinkled over with what appeared to be the entire kitchen’s worth of meat and veggies that he was eating.

“What are you talking about with this?” he demanded. “I just listed, like, five different things that I do there!”

“So you’re telling me,” said Dennis, with a laugh. He leaned closer over the table, his elbow propped as he gestured between them. Mac felt the tip of Dennis’s shoe nudging his own. “—that you just stand around all day, pretending to look at IDs, and then you take home _more_ than minimum wage? See, now that’s a gig! That’s a damn good grift, man.”

“It’s not a grift, it’s my job,” said Mac. For some reason, his cheeks were warm. “And I do way more than that, I told you. I’m security too.”

“Right,” said Dennis, nodding solemnly.

A prick of irritation burst in Mac’s spine.

“Only a rich jackass with a _mansion_ , who runs a store all by himself just because he likes to have something to do, I guess, with all of his free time — ‘Oh, look at me! I don’t have to work so hard I pass out as soon as I get home because of all the double shifts I’ve been taking and the whiskey I’ve been stealing on the job!’” He let his arms drop back to the table. “Only someone like _that_ would think that having a full-time job and barely making enough to scrape it together is a grift, somehow.” He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you think welfare is a lazy man’s scheme, too?”

Dennis snapped a breadstick in half, munching down loftily.

“Actually, I’ve gone on welfare before,” said Dennis. “Yeah, you didn’t expect that, did you? You’re always with the assumptions, I see.”

“What were _you_ doing on welfare?”

Dennis waved his hand through the air.

“More wine?” he asked, instead of answering. He was already reaching for the bottle.

Mac nodded and thrust his nearly-empty glass out for Dennis to spill some into. He nearly got some on his shirt when he took a gulp of it, full as it was. Now _that_ was a healthy-sized drink. Dennis’s knees knocked into his, bony and sharp and warm enough that Mac wanted to put his hands on them anyway, beneath the table as Mac shifted around to wipe the wine off his plate where it had splattered.

Mac ordered dessert. Even though Dennis swore that he never ate dessert he didn’t bake himself, he snatched up the second fork quickly enough when the waiter brought Mac’s plate and set it dead-center between them. Mac pulled it close to his edge of the table, but he didn’t outright stop Dennis from leaning over and slicing his fork through the mess of ice cream, brownie, and fudge.

“That’s really good,” Dennis said, his eyes very wide.

Mac grinned. He looked young and — handsome, like this. Cheeks pink, eyes enormous. He sat back down, savoring the bite he’d stolen; Mac’s mouth dropped open watching him. Dennis gave a soft noise.

“Oh, I forgot how much I like fudge,” said Dennis. He glanced at Mac and abruptly his expression closed over, he sat up straighter. “I don’t generally put it on stuff, is all. Needless chocolate and sugar.”

Mac nudged the plate closer.

“Have more,” he said quietly. Dennis’s gaze flicked from him to the dessert again. Mac pushed it nearer. “Have as much as you want, Dennis.”

Dennis watched him, quiet. The first time he took another bite, Mac split into a smile and pushed his foot between Dennis’s, tangling them loosely. Dennis’s face got warmer, he could see it from here — he pressed his lips together as he gazed at Mac for a long moment before looking away.

“So, I guess you could say that I orchestrated this pretty well,” Dennis said.

“Huh?” Mac glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” he sighed, twirling his finger around through all the dripped condensation on the table. “I was starting to think you weren’t interested after all, what with how long it took for you to ask me out.”

“Why wouldn’t I be interested?” said Mac. “Do you get tons of men coming around and kissing you who just wanna be friends?”

“No, no,” he laughed. “I just meant, you know. It had been awhile since…You just weren’t acting like you had a particular urge to do it again. That’s all.”

“I _just_ ended a very long relationship,” Mac reminded him. “Years long!”

“I know,” said Dennis. The set of his jaw was much more pronounced now, but Mac wondered how he had the gall to be offended here.

“Jesus Christ, Dennis.” He rolled his eyes. “I know you’re gorgeous but there’s other stuff going on sometimes, you know? So I’m _so_ sorry for taking one goddamn month before I jump right back into—”

“Yes, well,” said Dennis dismissively, but building steam: “Exactly! So it’s good that I did all of that with the flowers, you know. So you got the message.”

Mac frowned. That one got him.

“What?”

Dennis glanced up. “Huh?”

“What did you do with the flowers?” said Mac. “Which ones? The ones that _I_ bought?”

“Yeah!” Dennis nodded, eyebrows still raised expectantly, waiting for Mac to understand. As if his dedication to being cryptic, the years he had poured into the study of giving somebody a headache, could be so easily broken down.

“What did you do to them?” asked Mac.

“What?” he said, looking taken aback. “I don’t — I didn’t _do_ anything to them! I meant, you know…all the little, um. The messages. The hidden _meanings_.”

He had curled in on himself, and he looked so much smaller, nervous. Mac reached over until he brushed his wrist.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “You mean the notes you’ve been sending? Like, how you’ve been writing on all the receipts?”

“What? No!” Dennis pulled his hand back, twisting them in his lap instead. “All the flowers, the flowers I’ve been giving to you and the ones that I’ve been suggesting you to get! They mean something! What’s the goddamn point of me doing all of that shit if they didn’t even mean anything? It’s about the _subtlety_ , it’s about the _finesse_. It’s about…being classy, and — sophisticated. And wooing you until you—”

“ _What_?” said Mac. Despite his better judgment, a laugh slipped out, but he quickly sobered when he saw the look on Dennis’s face. “Are you — sorry. Are you trying to tell me that you’ve been trying to seduce me this entire time? Hidden messages in floral arrangements was your weird way of getting into my pants?”

“ _No_ ,” Dennis said, now furiously red. “Not — Not the entire time! And it wasn’t… _Christ_ , Mac. Not everything I do is to get…um. With the end goal of banging you.”

“But you just said—”

Dennis rolled his eyes.

“So what?” he demanded. “Every time you flirt it’s _just_ to get someone into bed?”

“So you don’t want to bang me? I’m really confused.”

“Seriously?” said Dennis, looking angrier. “ _Seriously_? No, goddamn it! Or — I mean — There are other things in play here, Mac! I can multitask!”

“What does that _mean_?” said Mac, slamming his fists on either side of his plate so it rattled. “What, like while you’re here with me, you’re also lining up other guys under the table or something?”

“ _No_ , you dumb dick!” Dennis shouted. “I just mean that when I was flirting with you — Yes! It was because I wanted to get you into bed but I _also_ did genuinely want to come out and have dinner with you! I can want both things, Mac! Is that okay with you? Have you never wanted to spend some time with a person in between — apparently, getting your rocks off 24/7?”

His volume had gotten very loud, but now they both went quiet. Dennis was scowling, and taking in sharper breaths; his complexion began to resemble a color better suited for a tomato. Watching him, Mac’s own breathing felt blocked up in his throat.

“I…” he said, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly. “Yeah, yes, of course I have. I mean…” He licked his lips. “I just didn’t get the thing with the flowers. That’s all.”

He scowled down at the table. Even though his fork was still clenched in his fist, he wasn’t using it anymore — he just watched his knuckles curl around it so tight that they stood out white beneath the skin.

A sound hiccupped out of Dennis, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Mac’s head whipped up to glare.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Mac snapped.

That only made Dennis laugh harder. He laughed so hard that he had to lean back in his seat, clutching his stomach with the impact of it; and so long that Mac broke, and started to chuckle too. He shook his head.

“I just, I thought you understood,” said Dennis, still glowing pink as he settled. “I assumed, because you were buying so many of them. I figured you must know _something_ about them, something about what they mean or what someone’s saying when they give them to you. I just—”

Mac snorted.

“Well, I don’t know why the hell you thought that,” he said.

Dennis grinned.

“Shut up. I didn’t think about it too hard,” he said. He crossed his arms, smile fading. “I’m still mad.”

“You can be mad. You can be as mad as you want,” Mac said blithely. He snapped his fingers at somebody over Dennis’s shoulder, and their waiter came back with a check that Mac snatched up and swiftly perused. Tonight would be a hit to his bank account for sure, but it was nothing that wasn’t worth seeing Dennis’s frustration break and melt away into a much softer expression. His gaze was steady and big, his lips parting as he watched Mac tuck his credit card away in the sleeve. Mac folded his hands together, the better to give Dennis his full attention. “Are you tired? Did you have enough wine?”

Dennis leaned back in his chair. “Why?”

“I’ve got something else up my sleeve,” said Mac, smiling conspiratorially. He crossed his arms on the table, sinking down to rest his chin there and cast up at Dennis the biggest, most gentle eyes he could muster. “How are you feeling? You awake?”

Dennis held his hands up, playfully.

“You’re scaring me, man,” he said. “What have you got planned?”

They decided to walk the distance rather than shell out for a cab. Mac led him through the streets, occasionally reaching to curl around Dennis’s elbow and tug him in a new direction when they had to turn or cross the road.

Dennis leaned into the counter beside him, glancing around the room while Mac flagged somebody down to the take their order.

“This is a bar,” Dennis observed astutely.

Mac glanced at him, beginning of a retort on his tongue, but he swiftly got interrupted by the woman behind the counter when she appeared, flashing them a smile. Mac got them both a house special with lots of vodka and sweet juice, pulling Dennis closer with a hand on the small of his back.

“I got this,” Dennis announced before Mac could whip out his card.

He still rifled for his wallet, though Dennis had already slapped a credit card down on the counter and told the woman to keep open a tab. Mac frowned.

“Are you sure?” he said. He had asked Dennis out, not the other way around. He was pretty sure rules said he was supposed to pay.

But Dennis shook his head.

“You got dinner,” he said. He pushed at Mac’s hand, which was still holding his beat-up old wallet from high school. “Put that away.”

Mac did, a rush of mixed gratitude and embarrassment curling through him. Did Dennis think he couldn’t afford both or something? But Mac touched his back again anyway, rubbing there with more intent. Dennis shot him a smile and leaned closer than necessary as he reached to accept their drinks from the bartender.

He grabbed for Mac’s hand and guided him over to a table; Mac could feel his face heating, but not out of discomfiture this time. He squeezed Dennis’s hand until he let him go to slide into the booth.

“So, what?” said Dennis. “You just wanted to take me out for a drink? What was with all the secrecy?”

Mac licked his lips.

“Yeah, but I picked this one for a reason,” he said. The lights were all on and the music was just loud enough to be a mild annoyance, slicing through normal conversation but not quite upbeat enough to draw people up from their seats until they got far more wasted. The space around the bar was almost entirely cleared of people. Mac jerked his head towards it. With his nerves spiking, he added, “Thought maybe after we had a few drinks, you might want to dance? Or something. We don’t have to, if you don’t want. I just thought…well, it could be nice.”

He glanced up at him, nervous and hopeful all at once. Dennis laughed, feet kicking at Mac’s below the table.

“We’ll see where the night takes us,” Dennis allowed, but the way he was smiling made hope bloom in Mac’s chest. He nodded anyway.

Between drinks three and four they unofficially relocated to the bar, commandeering two stools side by side. There weren’t exactly a swarm of customers here but those that were present had circled the counter like vultures to roadkill. Hooking an ankle through the rungs at the bottom, Mac pulled Dennis’s stool closer to his own.

Dennis shot him a grin.

“Can I help you?” he asked, but Mac ignored him and only turned a little pink when he flagged down the bartender. He was itching to throw an arm around Dennis’s shoulder but he wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate — how much was allowed on a first date? It had been too long since he’d been here. What if he overstepped and he didn’t get to see him again?

When he looked up, Dennis was watching him over the dregs of his drink. Neither broke whatever silent charge was running between them until they got served again.

“Okay,” said Dennis once they drained those too; he cast Mac a very pretty smile and slid his fingers down his arm until he could curl them around Mac’s. Heat exploded through him and he froze completely, staring down at the place they were touching. “I’m ready to dance now.”

Mac watched him with his lips parted, not moving off the barstool — but Dennis squeezed his hand, tugging on him with a coaxing smile, and Mac stumbled up to follow him away from the chairs and people. He made sure he had a secure grip on Dennis’s hand, not ready to give it up yet. He hadn’t realized how wrong everybody else had felt, any time he’d ever held someone’s hand. Too small or too clammy or not tight enough. He didn’t realize until he had Dennis’s, and it fit just right. He intended to keep it for as long as he could.

Dennis found a spot he favored. When he yanked Mac forward, he fell close enough that Dennis had to wrap an arm around his waist to stop him from knocking them both to the floor. His laugh came, melodic and teasing and extremely tempting, right by Mac’s ear.

“Careful,” he breathed.

Mac swallowed, eyes on Dennis as he nodded. He pulled back far enough that they were no longer chest to chest, so he could actually breathe. Dennis’s free hand grazed the back of his neck, thumb stroking just below his hair.

Dennis was still looking watching Mac unbrokenly when he started to move. At first it was just his hips, swaying side to side as though buffeted by a lazy breeze, but soon he was yanking on Mac’s hand and forcing him to step to the side, pulling Mac along in a very clumsy two-step. Actually, it was more like Dennis pulling him along while he slid his body against Mac’s. His grip on Dennis’s waist tightened, drawing him impossibly closer.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, he realized swiftly. He didn’t really know how to dance; as far as he was concerned, all he had intended to do was pull Dennis as completely against his body as he possibly could and see what happened, but Dennis seemed to have other plans that involved a lot of leading from the follow.

“Come on,” Dennis grunted, whipping his feet out from beneath Mac’s before he could step on them, _again_. “You’re supposed to be — You know what, hold on. Put this here.”

He grabbed Mac’s free hand and put it on his shoulder, then took him roughly by the waist. Mac sucked in a sharp breath, hand fumbling to wind its way around Dennis’s neck so he could hold himself up instead of falling into him completely. Eyes steady on him, nodding encouragingly, Dennis stepped back and pulled Mac with him.

Following turned out to be much, much easier. Mac clunkily dragged his feet wherever Dennis guided him first, and all he had to really do was grip Dennis’s hand tightly enough for the both of them, since Dennis’s attention was otherwise diverted.

Soon Mac was laughing, ducking his face into Dennis’s shoulder. Nobody else in this entire bar was dancing, absolutely nobody, but neither of them was deterred. Although at this point, things were getting really ridiculous. This was definitely the third time someone had requested this song — possibly a joke, like the group of younger men over there occasionally throwing crumpled-up napkins their way — and Dennis kept making snide comments about the other patrons in his ear that made Mac tuck his grin into Dennis’s shirt.

Mac clutched him closer by the back of his neck, nose nearly brushing the long line of his throat when he pulled back to look at him. He stared at Dennis’s neck, the place where he’d almost touched. The phantom-feeling of warmth from proximity to it combined with the up-close whiff of Dennis’s cologne made his head swim; dragging his focus away and up to his face took a whole lot of concerted effort.

“I’m getting tired,” Dennis said suddenly. Mac frowned, hand slipping from his neck, but Dennis fixed him with an alluring smile and rubbed, back and forth, between Mac’s side and the small of his back. Not being blown off, then. “I’ll walk you home.”

Mac was waiting by the door when Dennis got his card back from the bartender. He let Dennis through first, touching his back, before following him out into the night.

“It’s only a few blocks,” Mac said, catching up to his side. He pointed ahead of them. “One right after that stop sign, and—”

Dennis stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. He shot a smile to the side.

“I know,” he said.

Mac turned to look at him. Before Mac could register him moving, Dennis’s hand slipped down, off his shoulder, and trailed all the way down his forearm. His fingers tickled the inside of his elbow, traced a quick and electric path all the way to his wrist. He circled Mac’s pulse point twice before reaching to grab his hand.

Mac’s lips parted, still staring even as Dennis watched himself take Mac’s hand and squeeze. He blushed and kept walking, eyes on the sidewalk; but still, he pulled Dennis closer to him. Mac could feel Dennis watching him but he couldn’t look except for the odd glance to the side. His attention was too much, too hot on his skin. The charged, warm grip of his fingers was already nearly unbearable — Mac’s heart was beating, far too fast against his chest.

Dennis guided him down his own streets home. Mac just got done listing the top five worst and best songs they had played in the bar tonight when Dennis pulled him around the last corner before his building.

“Oh yeah?” Dennis asked, his gaze heavy; he kept glancing between Mac’s eyes and his mouth, and his voice was very soft. Probably he didn’t need to duck _that_ close in order for Mac to hear him, but Mac didn’t mind the lack of space between them either. Even if it made his stomach swim.

“Yep,” said Mac. “Of course, dude! What, you think Evacuate the Dancefloor isn’t going to be a hit?”

“I just don’t find it particularly _deep_ , is all,” said Dennis. He gestured a lot when he talked, Mac noticed. Now, with one of his hands occupied, he seemed to be making up for the lack of emphasis by doubling down with the other. “But the general public is made up primarily of idiots, so who knows. Maybe it’ll have staying power after all.”

“It’s really good,” said Mac defensively. “Good things always do.”

He nearly tripped over a root protruding out of the sidewalk, and Dennis’s grip on him tightened, pulling him back up straight. Mac stumbled to catch up with Dennis’s ongoing strides. He finished cursing and looked up, rant about their city officials trailing off into nothing.

“What?” asked Mac.

Dennis was just _gazing_ at him, unmoving and calm. Unnerving, almost. Too still.

“It was frustrating to me,” Dennis said out of nowhere, and his tone was so serious and new that Mac nearly stopped walking. “When you didn’t call or ask me out or anything after last month. When you didn’t — come see me again.”

Mac watched him for a minute, sussing him out. When Dennis didn’t cut right through to what he meant, everything got so much more confusing. And _dangerous_. Games like that always ended with Mac getting screwed over — he could never keep up with all the subtleties.

“I know,” he said, cautiously. “And I told you, I just got out of a long relationship.”

“I know,” Dennis echoed. His fingers, still clasped around Mac’s, tightened; Mac studied his profile with his brow furrowed. “I just meant it was disappointing, is all. I was — I _am_ — mad at you.”

Why did Mac’s mouth feel so dry? Coming from anyone else, he would think this was a breakup speech, and they had barely even gotten started.

Dennis pushed open the door to Mac’s building and let him through first. Mac let go of him finally so that they could climb the narrow, very old stairs to the first floor, where he paused.

“I’m sorry,” he said, starting off as soon as Dennis was next to him again.

“That’s okay,” Dennis said. They walked in silence for a beat until Dennis stopped suddenly, turning to face him. With a jolt, Mac realized they were already outside his door. Dennis curled a hand around his neck, forcing his attention back to him. “You’ve almost made it up to me. Now that I know you meant it.”

Mac’s hands were shaking so he clenched them into fists. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He watched as Dennis’s focus zeroed in on the motion, something hot curling through his stomach so swiftly that it might as well have been waiting for the opportunity to appear from the shadows.

“What else can I — should I do?” he asked.

Dennis smiled, loose and beautiful, like Mac had finally done something right — and he pulled Mac closer with the hand on his neck. Mac went with a sharp inhale. His eyes traced the swell of Dennis’s bottom lip and he thought that he’d go anywhere he wanted him to, so long as he got to keep looking there.

“I have an idea,” Dennis murmured, his eyes already drifting closed. Mac just stared for a couple of seconds, unable to stop himself from taking the time to commit the way Dennis looked to memory. The way Dennis looked right now — waiting to get kissed — should be immortalized in at least three different art forms and hung around every wall in Mac’s brain.

He shut his too, after a moment, and let his hands settle over Dennis’s waist on either side — and as soon as he felt Mac touch him, Dennis tugged him down at the same time that he leaned in, and he kissed him.

Mac tried to relax his fingers, curled over so his knuckles brushed the bottom of Dennis’s button-down. He was holding himself too tightly and Dennis not tightly enough — Dennis’s free hand settled on the side of his face and Mac finally circled his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. With a quiet, surprised breath, Dennis’s lips parted beneath his own; he melted into Mac, solid and hot. Mac tightened his grip on him, keeping them both steady.

When Mac eventually pulled back, Dennis only let him go a few inches before he laid his palms against each cheek, kissing him again. Mac wasn’t as ready the second time, and when he automatically capitulated to the pressure of Dennis’s open mouth on his, they stumbled a couple steps in both directions trying to get back their balance. He made a soft noise into Dennis’s mouth, hands trailing up to rake through his hair, and Dennis pulled away from him with a quiet laugh.

“You’ve been forgiven,” he said, eyes bright, fingers trailing across the skin above Mac’s collar. Mac grabbed his elbows, just so he could have something to hold onto without gripping him by the waist too tight, or too much. Dennis darted in to kiss his bottom lip. “Can I see you again?”

“Yeah,” Mac breathed, his attention laser-focused on Dennis’s mouth. A thought occurred to him, and he jumped back. “Wait!”

For a second Dennis was frozen, hands still held aloft like he was still touching Mac’s chest. He frowned, shoving them into his jacket pockets.

“What?” he asked impatiently. Mac felt inclined to agree — the urge to wrap himself back in Dennis’s arms was admittedly more tempting, but he still forced himself to fumble for his keys instead. Dennis’s smile was going to be worth it.

“Wait a minute,” he promised, holding up a finger, “just wait — one second—”

He was still struggling to jam his keys in the lock when the door swung open, and Charlie’s confused face appeared before them.

“Mac, that you?” he asked. He was wearing his ridiculous long john pajama bottoms and a very ratty top with multiple holes near the collar, and his hair was a mess, like he hadn’t gotten out of bed since they left, even to eat. Mac was mercifully used to how Charlie smelled, at least. God help Dennis for getting a whiff of their apartment, that was for sure, Mac thought as he slipped past Charlie and inside. He ignored Charlie calling after him. “Why are you making so much fucking noise—”

Mac ducked into his bedroom. He took a moment, the first real one he’d had all night without Dennis’s daunting attention on him. For someone who talked so much, Mac sure as hell had a tough time telling what Dennis was thinking. Sometimes he just _stared_ , so intently, and for so long that Mac couldn’t even pretend to listen to whatever unrelated bullshit he was talking about at the same time. It was unnerving; his presence was unnerving.

Mac took quick stock that he wasn’t forgetting anything, grabbed the vase, and pushed past Charlie back out into the hall. Shoving Charlie back and slamming the door on him put a very effective end to his and Dennis’s conversation, and even Charlie’s offended yells through the door were one hundred percent worth it.

Dennis raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall.

“I was right in the middle of a story, man,” he drawled. “That’s rude, what if — What is that?”

Just like that, his tone changed completely. No longer the lazy aloofness meant to tease, suddenly he sounded serious and full. Even his body language was new: He straightened, eyes glued to Mac’s hands.

“Oh…I wanted to give this to you,” said Mac.

He thrust the vase out, all twelve flowers looking duller and deader in the ugly fluorescents of his hallway. Dennis didn’t seem to notice, even though his eyes had gone very wide and should have been better than ever at picking up on the flaws. He glanced between them and Mac’s face. Hesitant, Dennis reached out one hand, barely brushing the glass.

“Is this—?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Mac said. Despite making it through the evening all the way up to here, he found looking Dennis in the eye a lot more difficult all of a sudden. “I would have given it to you earlier, but um, I didn’t think you’d want to carry them around with you all night. Would have made dancing more hard.”

He pushed the vase at Dennis again, nudging it forward. This time Dennis wordlessly reached out and lifted it from his open hands. He was just _staring_ at them. Color began to return to his cheeks right in time to make him go redder and redder. Mac broke out grinning.

“Thanks for coming out with me,” he said, shyer. Dennis’s gaze jumped to him, wide like he’d been hypnotized. “I’ll call you soon.”

It came out halfway between a question and a statement, but Dennis didn’t move either way. Not even to nod. Mac darted forward and pressed his lips to Dennis’s cheek, swift and sure.

Dennis reanimated as Mac stepped back, finding the doorknob behind his back and stepping through without taking his eyes off Dennis, who had meanwhile gone pinker than ever. Mac smiled, feeling bashful.

“Goodnight, Dennis,” he said, beginning to shut the door.

Dennis was still watching him in silence, a dozen flowers clutched in both his hands, when Mac pressed it closed and locked it. For a couple of seconds he just stood there in the foyer, leaning his forehead against the door, smiling.

The next morning was quiet and slow; he was tempted to skip confession after service but ultimately refrained, not wanting to mess things up with God just when he was really going to need Her. He rushed his way through his usual list of weekly sins and escaped as fast as his conscience would allow him.

Church turned out to be a blessing in more ways than usual, because it let out just as his florist was getting his typical weekend late start. If Dennis was religious, Mac would karate chop his store into dust, but Mac was pretty sure he would seize on any opportunity to sleep in without regretting it.

He hadn’t been open an hour before Mac stuck his head in one of the front windows. Dennis caught his eye right as he bent over to gather up a planter from underneath a table, and Mac waved enthusiastically at him. Dennis rolled his eyes and gestured for him to come in.

The planter he was handling was a large, and Mac got there just as it was toppling in Dennis’s grip; he grabbed the bottom and helped him slide it onto the counter to safety.

“Thanks,” Dennis said. Mac, brow furrowed with the effort to get new dirt off his palms, didn’t answer. Dennis tapped his fingers on the table. “What are you doing here?”

Mac shrugged. A couple of people were still roaming the store around them; glancing around first, Mac shuffled closer so that Dennis could hear him even when he dropped his voice lower.

“Nothing,” he admitted. “I had an open afternoon and I wanted to see you.”

Dennis straightened.

“Oh,” he said.

Something about his tone had Mac’s temperature spiking.

“Is that…Is that, uh. Okay?” he asked. When he went to nervously rub at the back of his neck, he found it warm, nearly ready to break out in sweat.

But Dennis covered Mac’s hand with his own, the one on the edge of the table. His thumb ran across Mac’s skin, and Mac’s attention jumped down to the contact.

“Yeah,” Dennis said, in the same exact undertone. “Yeah, that’s definitely okay. Wanna hang around for a bit?”

Mac nodded. Dennis took his hand away, which was a shame, but he gave Mac a smile to soften the blow.

After about thirty-five minutes, and despite the continued presence of customers milling the store, Dennis decided to take a lunch break. He pulled Mac into the back like he thought he was being inconspicuous, put out a _Back in five_ sign by the register, and called a delivery guy to bring them both sandwiches.

While they were waiting, they sprawled on the couch that Dennis had squeezed back here together. There was nothing to really look at or do, but the cushions were comfortable, and so was Dennis, leaning into him now and again when Mac made him laugh. Mac’s arm already lay along the back of the couch behind his shoulders, nearly touching them, and he couldn’t help trying to coax more smiles out of Dennis just because they looked so good on him. Mac persevered on this venture right up until Dennis put a hand on his knee, still grinning, and froze Mac down to the bone. Dennis jostled his leg and squeezed.

“Do you wanna come over sometime this week?” Dennis asked. “I was gonna spend a few hours doing some heavy-duty gardening, I could use a second pair of hands.”

Mac’s gaze dragged between Dennis’s hand, still on his leg, and the wide smile spread across his visage. His work schedule was busy this week, he remembered, but the thought was dim and fleeting. He could move things around. Yeah, he thought, enraptured in Dennis’s expectant smile — he could definitely move things around.

Warmth was spreading from where Dennis touched him, good but tingling out like tendrils beneath his skin, similar to how anxiety felt crawling up his body. Two sides of the same coin — nerves felt a lot like excitement when they were this concentrated in one spot, or rushing around through his blood.

Mac looked into his hopeful face, and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stream lover (2019) to hear the feelings i was having editing this  
> [:^)](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/187220187930)


	8. summer came like cinnamon

A few weeks later, Mac stood in Dennis’s kitchen, barefoot and mixing a pitcher of lemonade.

“You’re gonna get eaten by fire ants,” Dee told him sternly. “And I am going to laugh.”

“You can laugh as much as you want, bitch,” Mac told her. “If any fire ants show up, I’m gonna bash the shit out of them before they can bite me or Dennis. Right? Right, Dennis?”

Dennis glanced up, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Sure,” he said, before going back to making them sandwiches for lunch.

Mac turned back to Dee, all puffed up and proud.

“See?” he said. Handing her the pitcher, he added, “Can you taste this and tell me if it’s too sweet?”

“Taste your own lemonade.”

“Dee!” he complained. “I burned off all my taste buds on the popcorn yesterday! You remember!”

“If you can’t taste, then what’s the fucking difference?” she sneered, but she still grabbed the lemonade and tipped some down her throat.

“Dennis doesn’t like it too sweet,” he said.

Drinking from a pitcher that big, Dee spilled some lemonade down her shirt; Mac snatched it back from her with a scowl.

“Dee, watch it! You goddamn bitch,” said Dennis.

“Yeah,” said Mac. “Don’t waste all my lemonade. This is our fuel.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Did you still need me for something?” she drawled, and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve got plans with that waitress I’ve been seeing at two, so…”

“You lost the bet. Fair’s fair,” Dennis told her. He finished the second sandwich and stacked plates in Dee’s hands. “You have to do what we say for the next hour, _you_ agreed.”

“Oh my God, Dennis,” she said, “we’re not ten years old anymore.”

“You made the bet!” Dennis said. “Now shoo. Take those outside.”

Muttering beneath her breath, Dee disappeared out the sliding glass door. Dennis was shaking his head when he turned back to Mac, who lifted the pitcher toward him.

“Want some?”

Dennis knocked him a grin and came around the counter. Mac didn’t let go of the pitcher when Dennis brought it to his mouth, fingers overlapping on the wet glass.

“That’s good,” Dennis said.

Mac smiled, running a thumb against the corner of his mouth to wipe away a drop of lemonade. Dennis touched his wrist; after just looking at him for a few seconds, Mac cupped his jaw and kissed him, thrilling in how Dennis leaned into him when he got close.

The door slid back open as Mac was pulling away, stroking wrinkles out of Dennis’s t-shirt. Dennis was beaming at him.

“Ugh,” said Dee.

“Shut up,” said Mac, turning to glare when Dennis pulled out of his arms and went to fetch them both cups. “Go find my shoes.”

Dee stuck out her tongue and left.

“Mac, come on.”

Dennis was standing impatiently by the door, hands full and waiting. He jerked his head toward the door and Mac hurried to open it for him, grabbing the pitcher as he went.

They ate around the table outside, hot sun baking their food and lemonade nearly faster than they could eat them. Mac kicked out, pushing apart Dennis’s ankles to insinuate his foot between them instead. Dennis set aside all of his crusts as he finished them.

“Can you help me haul out all the shit I brought over from the shed?” asked Mac when they were done.

Dennis, apparently, had gone over thirty years without ever once buying himself a set of power tools, and as far as Mac could tell he had never so much as glanced outside the window while the workmen he’d hired were renovating shit in his own goddamn house. After two full carloads from the hardware store, Mac had finally filled the shed with enough equipment to deem the stockpile acceptable, at least in the short-term.

Dennis groaned.

“Why me? Can’t Dee do it?”

Mac tapped the front of Dennis’s phone so the screen lit up.

“She was off-duty fifteen minutes ago,” he said. Dennis cursed. “That leaves you and me.”

“Can’t you do it by yourself?”

“You’re not doing anything else today, Dennis,” he said. Beneath the table, despite the whining, Mac reached out and covered his knee. “Come on. Are you done?”

“Don’t rush me,” he snapped. Raising his eyebrows, he scooped up a finger-full of crumbs from his plate and sucked them into his mouth, making defiant eye contact the whole time.

After about ten minutes and a lot of coaxing kisses to his cheek, Mac cajoled Dennis into helping him after all. He was sweating and complaining by the end but they got everything set out on the lawn before he gave up, sprawling out on a lawn chair and fanning himself like Mac had asked him to run a marathon in one-hundred-degree heat and he’d barely escaped with his life.

“I don’t understand why you never did any of this yourself,” said Mac, stretching a tape measure out across a log he’d stolen from Dennis’s next-door neighbor’s stash on the other side of the fence. Dennis stripped off his t-shirt, the better to tan, and Mac only messed up his calculations once while eying him stealthily over his workbench. “You talk so much game about your garden and you barely keep up with it.”

“Shut up and build my perimeter,” said Dennis. He sloshed around his dwindling glass of lemonade, contemplative. “Do we have any liquor in the house? Maybe I’ll make us margaritas.”

“I’ll take one,” Mac said. “It’s not just the perimeter, Dennis. There’s _nothing_ out here at all! You’ve got so much space, you should do something with it.”

“Oh yeah?” Dennis asked, tilting his head back toward the sun and closing his eyes.

“You should build a pool,” said Mac. “Or a better firepit.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

“I could do it,” said Mac. “It would take a while, obviously. But I could do it.”

Dennis propped himself up a little, digging his elbow into the back of his chair and squinting open one eye.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mac grunted, struggling with the table saw. “I’ll build you stuff. I’ll build you lots of stuff.”

Dennis snorted and laid back down.

“That’s so rugged of you,” he drawled. “Very masc.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he advised.

“Can I get a swim-up bar once I get my pool?” Dennis asked. “Can you build me an in-ground trampoline?”

“Don’t be a dick,” said Mac. “I’d need a whole crew for that!”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Right.”

He set his workbench up so that he had the perfect vantage point to watch Dennis suntan — the power saw was so loud that he couldn’t listen to anything or have much of a conversation, but he needed _some_ form of entertainment. Watching Dennis lay there getting gradually sweatier was as absorbing an activity as any he could think of.

When he sent Dennis in to make the margaritas, he came back five minutes later with a drink in each hand and a bottle of sunscreen tucked under his arm; if the way he kissed the side of Mac’s face when he gave him his glass wasn’t distracting, rubbing sunscreen into his pecs definitely was. Mac’s hand slipped, thumb slicing along the edge of one of the power tools laid out before him.

“Shit! Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

Dennis looked over and caught his eye right as Mac sucked the cut into his mouth, shooting Dennis wide, feel-sorry-for-me eyes.

Dennis scoffed.

“You know you’re supposed to put the saw through the _wood_ , right?” he called. “Not into your fingers. I mean, unless you were trying to cut those off, I don’t know. Most people need them—”

“Shut up,” said Mac, cutting off more ribbing by starting up the loudest tool he could find. He slashed through a few more logs without bothering to measure, resolving to work it out later if they were too big or too small.

“Oh,” Dennis said after a few minutes, watching Mac scramble and fail to catch a cut of wood from slipping off the table. Mac shouted out, yanking his feet out of the way before anything heavy could topple on them. “I think you’re supposed to keep that _on_ the workbench, if I’m not mistaken here. You know what, Mac, in all seriousness, if you grab the clamp from—”

“Stop backseat driving,” he grunted, hauling another ruined log into his arms so he could toss it in the pile he intended to turn into the firepit he’d promised, after this perimeter was all done. “Do _you_ know home improvement?”

“Do _you_?”

“Dennis,” he whined. “I told you I used to sell weed behind Home Depot. I saw the guy there do this all the time.”

“Don’t let me stop you from trying,” he said mildly, holding up his hands. Dennis let him continue what he was doing for another minute or two before he called, “Hey, Mac.”

He turned around.

“What?” he sighed.

Dennis grinned cheekily.

“Looking good over there,” he said.

Mac laughed, cheeks flushing, and turned his face away. Dennis could be so _distracting_. It was so rude when Mac was just trying to do him a favor like this.

He dropped to his knees and started measuring the next side of the garden. After a while he felt Dennis come to his side, and he started watering everything, dodging around Mac’s probing and calculating and darting hands as best he could. Mac scribbled in pencil on one of the wood blocks.

As soon as he got back on all fours, Dennis blasted him all over the back with icy hose water. He yelped, dropping onto the grass and rolling over. Dennis was standing over him, wearing a grin and holding the garden hose; he laughed, spritzing Mac again even though he shouted and kicked out wildly for Dennis’s legs.

“You _dick_ ,” Mac gasped, slicking his fringe off his forehead. “Goddamn it, Dennis.”

Dennis sprayed him right over the front of his pants. Mac lunged and tackled him around the knees, and they toppled together onto the grass in a tangle of elbows and legs and curse words. He got Dennis finally pinned only for Dennis to spray him directly in the face with the hose, and he rolled off with another yell.

Dennis sat across the back of his knees, mashing his face into the wet dirt and raining freezing water down on the back of his head, for several minutes before Mac called mercy, slapping the ground furiously even while he was still trying to elbow Dennis in the ribs. Dennis finally stopped, laughing as he clamored off of him. Mac sat up, red-faced and angry and swiping dirt from his clothes, to find Dennis with his knees curled to his chest, clutching the hose and giggling at him. Mac’s temper immediately knocked down from a 9 to a 4. He scowled, patting his dirty wrists.

“Hey. Baby,” Dennis said.

“Fuck off,” Mac muttered.

“Aw, don’t be mad.” Dennis crawled toward him, prying Mac’s arms apart when he tried to cross them over his chest. Repressing laughter, Dennis kneeled down up against his side. He maneuvered through Mac swatting him away and rubbed his thumb through some mud on his cheek; Mac glared. “Don’t be mad at me. I was helping you cool off. You were looking a little sweaty there.”

He barely stopped grinning long enough to press his mouth to Mac’s for a second, running fingers through his damp hair, still looking delighted.

“You’re really gross now,” Dennis informed him. He tousled his hair. “Dirt’s flying off you like a sprinkler.”

“Thanks to _you_ ,” said Mac, poking him right in his bare hips. Dennis curled his body away.

“Stop that,” he breathed, his face close.

When Mac pressed forward, still tickling him, Dennis gathered his hands in both of his own and squeezed them to stillness.

“I said stop that,” he snapped.

Mac leaned up and gently connected their mouths. Dennis pulled Mac closer, still holding both his hands curled up between his own, and drew them to his hips. Mac wrapped his arms around him, squeezing. Dennis’s fingers trailed down his neck and crept beneath the collar of his shirt.

“You’re fine,” said Dennis, darting in to kiss him again, and again. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

He pushed Mac away by the chest and climbed back to his feet, slapping Mac’s hand when he stretched it out for a leg up. Muttering about what an asshole he was, Mac got up too, still trying to beat out the dirt caked into his clothes.

“Hey. Dennis.”

Dennis looked over, wary but still facing him. Still automatically responding to the sound of his voice.

“What?”

Before he could dart far enough away, Mac grabbed him by the arm and yanked him around, crushing him in a bear hug. Dennis yelled, squirming around in his grip but no matter how hard he pushed at Mac’s shoulders, Mac wouldn’t let him go. He didn’t stop until some of the wet in his shirt had seeped onto Dennis’s bare chest, and he was covered in all that dirt too. He was cussing Mac out as he tried to wipe it all off his torso, ending up with it helplessly streaked and matted all over his back and sides from Mac’s hands.

“Goddamn it,” Dennis spat. “I’m disgusting now, Mac. I need at least ten showers before we meet up with the others tonight.”

Mac grinned, grabbing for the loops on his jeans even though Dennis, glaring at him, pulled away so fast he nearly tripped over the dropped hose. Still laughing, Mac managed to get close enough to tug Dennis’s hips into his own, and nose along his collarbone.

“Me too,” he said, grinning, and bit down into Dennis’s shoulder.

Dennis rolled his eyes, pushing unkindly at his forehead with two fingers.

“Gross,” he said. “You know you’re eating dirt, right? Dirt and — and plant and sweat, probably. And sawdust, too. You’re gonna get sick.”

“Oh no. Spending all weekend at home, in bed, with you?”’

Dennis finally started laughing again. Mac had to squint to see it with how the sun was positioned right behind him.

The lukewarm shower felt good after so long sweating in the heat; Mac schemed himself in there with him, and Dennis was watching intently, a smile on his lips, when Mac shut the door and pulled him right into his arms.

Dennis always took showers dialed up too hot and for far too long, citing an abundance of free time and amazing water pressure. Mac had been horrified at first, but after weeks and weeks of him refusing to change, Mac gave in and dove forward with full enthusiasm. The water bill didn’t have his name on it. Today, though, they were already so warm that they kept the temperature on medium.

Mac pressed him into the wall, and Dennis’s laughter cut off with the shock of cold from the tile on his back. His back arched, squirming away from it, hot mouth never pulling away from Mac’s anyway. Mac grabbed his thigh and squeezed, wishing he had better footing to maneuver them around. His lips found Dennis’s neck and he sighed, breathing out Mac’s name.

“Can we wash first?” Dennis said, at odds with how his hands twisted into Mac’s hair. “I just — I really do feel dirty.”

Mac smirked.

“I’ll bet you do,” he said, low, grinning.

Dennis pinched him in the ribs.

“Can you go five minutes without being inappropriately horny?”

But he didn’t stop kissing Mac for five more minutes before he finally turned around, stretching around the tub for what he needed as best he could with Mac pressing against his back and with his waist encircled in a vice grip.

Dennis was quiet as he rubbed Mac down. Mac thought about starting conversation every minute or so but each time he would look down at Dennis on his knees, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot of mud on Mac’s ankle with his brow knitted in concentration, or intently watching his hands draw foamy soap in patterns across Mac’s back, and every time Mac decided to let him keep doing what he was doing instead. He seemed like he was enjoying the focus.

Mac understood the attention to detail as soon as they swapped places and he was dragging shampoo through Dennis’s hair. Dennis tipped his head back, looking peaceful and satisfied as hell, and Mac’s hungry stare wouldn’t leave the arch of his neck no matter how hard he was trying to watch what his hands were doing, before suds dripped into Dennis’s eyes or something and ruined the entire mood. Mac watched Dennis’s abs twitch as he dragged the loofah across it and it was hands-down the most fascinating thing he had ever witnessed.

Only when they were all cleaned off did Dennis push Mac against the wall, covering his body with his own so that Dennis was bearing the brunt of the spray from the shower. He tipped Mac’s jaw towards him and covered his mouth, the backs of his fingers stroking Mac’s skin on his way to cradle him by the back of the head. His thumb kept circling against the same spot, high on Mac’s neck, creating a focused concentration of heat there like his skin was raw and aflame beneath where Dennis touched.

The feeling of Dennis sighing, breathy and uncontrollable, right beside his ear when Mac kissed down his neck was just as gorgeous as it always was. He pulled Dennis up to his mouth with hands on his neck, tilting his face in — and Dennis whispered his name in the gap between Mac kissing him squarely, all desperate and happy and wanting. Even the way he wrapped his arms Mac’s neck to pull himself closer screamed at how badly he wanted this.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mac whispered, beginning a slow path down his jaw to his throat and then brushing along his collar. Dennis sighed, fingers twisting in Mac’s hair, encouraging him to keep going. He tracked kisses along the line of one shoulder, and started further down until he couldn’t bend anymore and he had to drop to his knees, twisting them around first so that Dennis was the one pressed up against the wall.

Mac looked up at him, lips parted, gaze unbreaking and huge. Dennis’s fingers ran wildly through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead over and over and over despite the shower’s best efforts to plaster it down. Mac grabbed Dennis’s wrist and pressed his mouth to the palm of his hand, eyes squeezing shut, reverent.

He squeezed Dennis’s hand in his grip, wide eyes meeting wider.

“Do you want to move to bed?” he asked.

He spread out one of the plush white towels from the hall closet before laying Dennis down on top of it. Dennis curled his fingers into Mac’s hair and his body toward his as soon as Mac laid down with him. It was still new and exciting enough that everything felt heightened: the insinuation of Dennis’s knee between his thighs, and the dig of his teeth into the side of Mac’s neck, and the sound of Dennis’s thin breathing when Mac’s lips wandered toward his chest.

“Mac,” he bit out, like he wanted something.

Mac sunk his fingers into the side of his thigh, tight. When Dennis licked hungrily into his mouth, Mac gathered him by the waist and rolled onto his back, spreading Dennis’s legs across his lap when he pulled him on top of him. Dennis was just cradling his face and kissing him slow and it was driving him insane — getting impatient, he slid his hands from Dennis’s waist down to his ass, tilting his hips down to a new angle. From here he had perfect leverage to grind up between Dennis’s legs, and his eyes drifted shut for a second with how good it felt. Dennis’s mouth slowed on his. A new theory forming, Mac yanked Dennis’s thighs open even further and did it again, cock bumping messily against everything he had down there. Dennis whined quietly, fingers tightening on Mac’s chin to keep him still enough to kiss harder than before.

This was the exciting part: he was still learning, here. He hadn’t had time to lock the door, unplug the clock on the bedside table, and properly explore for as long as he wanted, committing Dennis’s body to memory. How he twisted up in the sheets when Mac put his mouth just there, and the exact location of every sensitive nerve, and what happened when he played with them. He was still working on building up that roadmap. Some things were, as of yet, unexplored.

Mac’s hands relaxed on the outside of his knees. Dennis turned Mac’s cheek into the bed and started biting at the side of his neck and up the curve of his jaw, and Mac’s touch jumped to his waist, keeping him pulled down against his lap when he tilted up his hips and found friction.

The towel he had put down in lieu of drying them off from the shower was already twisted up, and when he gripped Dennis around the middle and rolled them over, he found the sheets were damp. Dennis’s legs fell open around him, too wide; Mac grabbed one of his thighs and kept it pressed close to him as he trailed his mouth down Dennis’s throat.

“Mac,” he said again, thready.

His fingers twisted into Mac’s hair. Dennis’s cock was half-swollen against his leg, waiting. It was hard not to notice now that Dennis seemed to be pushing his head in that direction, but he didn’t mind the demandingness. He liked that Dennis was so ready and wanting, the hand in his hair twitching with every second that Mac kept him waiting, sometimes tugging hard enough to sting and send shivery spikes of thrill down his spine.

Dennis sighed impatiently, body squirming around on the sheets.

“Are you planning on taking all day to get down there?” he asked.

Mac shot him a look. He didn’t like being interrupted when he was busy studying what the press of his mouth all over did to Dennis’s face and cock, and he had been on the verge of a real breakthrough there narrowing in on a spot that he thought might be _ticklish_ , which would have been a real prize to discover. Before Dennis had the gall to interrupt him, anyway, and he swiftly lost his place.

“Don’t — Mac, don’t dawdle even more, come on,” said Dennis. When that garnered no significant change, he tried, as though Mac was taking hours instead of minutes, “We have stuff to do tonight.”

But his complaining didn’t stop Mac from holding his hips down to the bed while he circled the tip of his tongue near his pelvis. Mac watched his stomach suck in and push back toward his face, like Dennis couldn’t decide if he wanted to curl away from or lean into the way Mac’s mouth felt on vulnerable, sensitive skin. Mac slipped his hands further around Dennis’s hips, wedging them between him and the mattress until he could pull them up towards his face, taking away all the room for Dennis’s indecision. Mac’s lips trailed to his other thigh, bypassing where Dennis really wanted him altogether.

Dennis’s grip in his hair turned painful, and his cock was more swollen now.

“ _God_ , you’re a fucking tease.”

Dennis was biting hard into his lip. Mac nosed at him.

“Am I?” he asked, the words brushing against his skin. Dennis looked down at him and rolled his eyes, cheeks going pink. Mac grinned. “Am I a cocktease, Dennis?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he gritted out. “You’re being one right now.”

“I don’t think this really counts,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Despite protests, Mac sat up. Dennis’s legs were still spread around him and he used them to yank Dennis into his lap. Dennis writhed around pleasantly there for a minute before Mac pulled on his wrists, and he folded his arms around Mac’s neck and sat up. “Because there’s still an intention of getting you off. You’re just not giving me the _time_ , man.”

He ducked down to trail kisses along Dennis’s shoulder. Dennis sighed, grinding down on his lap.

“Mac…”

“Mmm, yeah,” said Mac, kissing slowly back towards his mouth from the corner of his jaw. “You sound so sexy when you say my name.”

Dennis shivered. He grabbed Mac tighter around the neck and kissed him, full-on and deep and dirty. Mac squeezed his waist in both hands.

“Yeah? Well you _feel_ so good,” Dennis said. He circled his hips on Mac’s lap, uncoordinated and messy but with a jolt of pleasure so concentrated that Mac moaned, squeezing his ass, burying his face in Dennis’s neck. He was getting sweaty already but Mac liked it, nose brushing back and forth and making Dennis’s hands tighten.

He slid his palms up Dennis’s thighs. Dennis pushed into the touch so he did it again, and again. Dennis undulated every time he got up near his hips, his body still moving with Mac’s, grinding together. Dennis’s hands slid up Mac’s chest. Mac finally licked his palm several times and took Dennis in hand, and Dennis made this absolutely gorgeous sound the second Mac finally touched him, not quite able to cut it off in time even though he dove in to bite Mac’s lip. Mac squeezed his thigh and lightly scratched up Dennis’s side, and he moaned softly, melting into a longer kiss.

Mac licked around his mouth. Dennis was a good multitasker but there was something gratifying about making him more and more like putty by kissing him like this and touching him at the same time. Dennis pulled his hair before slipping his hand down Mac’s chest, hiding his face in Mac’s neck for some reason.

“Is that good?” Mac checked.

Dennis’s eyelids flickered. He seemed like he was having a difficult time thinking this question through.

“Huh…Little tighter,” he said eventually, so Mac did. Dennis made this messy, high sound, rolling his hips up to fuck Mac’s fist. “That’s good. That’s it right there.”

Mac kept this up, focusing on maintaining the rhythm he had carefully constructed to make Dennis as loud and desperate as possible, until Dennis mumbled, “Hold on, one second—” without ever fully pulling his mouth away from Mac’s, and he touched Mac’s knuckles to make him stop.

“Huh? What?” said Mac. He trailed his hands up Dennis’s ribs, nails light on his skin, up and down. “Why?”

He aimed to nip at Dennis’s shoulder, ready to grab him by the waist and coax him back into the good and steady grinding they had been doing earlier, at the very least if he didn’t want Mac to keep jacking him off. But before he could, Dennis slipped out of his lap and laid back against the pillows, reaching for Mac when he was prone.

Getting the picture, Mac leaned down to recapture his mouth. He had a very addicting tongue; Mac had never experienced anything like it. Maybe Dennis should start giving out warnings before kissing anyone just to be safe.

“Anyway, I — I was just saying, you’re still a cocktease even if you _intend_ on not being one later,” Dennis said on a breathy gasp, tilting his head back so Mac could lick down his throat.

“Oh yeah?” Mac’s nose dragged up his neck. He planted a wet kiss just below his ear, liking how it made Dennis’s fingers massage through his hair. “How the hell do you get that?”

“It’s not about what you _might_ do in the future,” he explained stubbornly. “You could wind me up six days in a row, and even if you fuck me on the seventh, you still gave me blue balls the rest of the week.”

“I think that’s called edging, sweetie,” said Mac. “We can work on that later.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” said Dennis. “That’s not what I’m saying. You know that I know that! I’m the one who’s teaching _you_ more sex positions, if you’ll recall you barely even knew _how_ to set up a video camera — Mac, admit that I knew that, about edging. Say you know I know.”

“Jesus, Den. I was just teasing.”

“I know,” he said, smarting. “That was my whole _point_.”

This time when Mac crawled down his body, he made fast work of getting right to Dennis’s thighs. He had a very specific fondness for these thighs; they were gorgeous in all sorts of situations, and especially good at tightening around Mac. His hips, his head. He wasn’t picky. Dennis brushed his hair back a few more times, fluffing it up, and he didn’t rush him.

“You have great thighs,” Mac told him.

Dennis grinned.

“I know,” he said smugly. He resettled, getting comfortable with this new direction. When Mac looked up, his eyes were closed.

Mac rolled his own. He was really enjoying this, huh? And he had the audacity to give Mac shit for savoring every second he spent on Dennis’s body. He liked it just as much as Mac did.

“I mean it,” said Mac, pulling one closer to roughly kiss the sensitive inside. Dennis wriggled an inch or so closer, and Mac decided to go for it: He expected more of a fight when he bit down and started sucking a bruise to the surface, high up on the inside, but Dennis’s cock twitched and the only thing he did was keep petting Mac’s hair.

Mac pulled himself further up the bed until he was level with his hips. Dennis was watching him, hawklike but mercifully silent. Mac licked an idle stripe up his cock.

He was intending to stop there for a second, something snarky on the tip of his tongue, but the way that Dennis’s breath shuddered out in relief made him rethink taking a pause before going further. Closing his eyes, Mac leaned in again instead and took the head into his mouth.

The first time they slept together — halfway through their second date, because they got caught in the rain and Dennis wanted to stop at Mac’s place and dry off in between early dinner and a movie, and after one thing led to another, they’d needed to go to a much later showing instead — Dennis had done this for him, and he’d told Mac afterwards that he got too into it and wasn’t very good at keeping still, which was just inconsiderate, plain and simple. Granted, he’d said all this right before pulling him in by the shoulder and kissing him again, and anyway Dennis hadn’t even choked so Mac didn’t see what the big deal was. They’d rolled around on Mac’s pillows for a very long time, and Dennis kept pausing to criticize his room and everything that they were laying on even while he all but begged Mac to press him into the sheets.

Either way he was a goddamn hypocrite, the thing he said about Mac getting too into it. Every time Mac went down on him, Dennis turned into — less of a screamer, and more of a very loud demander. He felt the need to tell Mac everything from exactly how good his lips felt to how he should consider using the back half of his tongue if he wanted Dennis to ever take him out on another date. Mac gave him shit for it, but honestly, he didn’t care; if bringing Dennis off was the touchdown that won the game, then following each of the little instructions to get him there were all of the successful passes and field goals that let them reach that finishing play.

Dennis dug his feet into the bed, and Mac grabbed his hips in warning. Dennis cracked open one eye to look down on him, his chest heaving, his mouth red.

“Mac,” he groaned, grinding steadily against his face. His fingers tightened in his hair, slipping down to cradle the back of his head and keep him pulled between his legs, like Mac had anywhere else that he wanted to go. “Please, I want you to touch me. Go deeper, put your hands on me, that’s it—”

Mac hadn’t moved but Dennis’s free hand curled around one of his and pulled it further up his body, settling it on his stomach. Mac let his fingers spread and travel — and when he started feeling Dennis up in earnest, Dennis released his wrist to clutch at his pillow, still slowly pumping his cock across Mac’s tongue. He groaned out his name again, bitten-off and soft and beautiful.

Mac thumbed at his hips. He kept stroking over Dennis’s nipples, circling and pressing down tight and flicking at them until Dennis was gasping. He usually only made those exact sounds when Mac was inside him — which gave him an idea.

Pulling off for a second, Mac licked at his first two fingers until Dennis got impatient, and the hands in his hair guided him back down between his legs until Mac’s scalp was smarting. He ducked down first to smear a kiss into Dennis’s inner thigh, high up near the crease. Dennis’s hips twitched on the bed and Mac took him back in his mouth.

He let Dennis find a steady rhythm, shallowly fucking his face. His panting was higher and reedier now, like it was coming apart at the edges, and he couldn’t seem to stop mumbling at lightning speed. Most of it was nonsense punctuated with breathy whines and gasps, but some of it — Dennis’s fingers combed through Mac’s hair.

“Please, Mac. Fuck me,” he chanted, his hips endlessly rocking in tighter and tighter thrusts. His thighs were shaking. “I want you to do that for me, please…I want your mouth on me, I know you can make me come all over myself…You like that, don’t you? Watching me get off again…and _again_ …and again. Do you want that?” He looked down, meeting Mac’s eyes. The hands in his hair tightened. Dennis threw his head back with a groan, grinding his ass on the sheets. “I know you do. Fuck, your mouth feels incredible. Look at me again, honey, just keep — Jesus, you look good. Think you were born to suck me off, man. Makes you look better than when you’re doing anything else.” He snorted, petting at Mac’s hair. “God knows it’s a better use of your time.”

Mac bit down on the inside of his thigh.

“Yeah?” he asked, and it startled him a little, how rough his voice sounded. One of Dennis’s heels clumsily bumped up onto his back, his leg tightening around him. “Can’t think of anything else you’d rather I was doing?”

Mac dragged his first two fingers, the ones he’d gotten a little bit wet first, from right behind Dennis’s balls down to his hole, and he just circled them there. Dennis moaned, loud like it had been yanked out of him by surprise. His face had gone all red and gorgeous now, and Mac smeared kisses up toward the curve of his groin.

“I’m gonna get you off like this,” Mac promised, ducking down low enough to brush his lips against Dennis’s sack when he spoke. “Huh, Dennis? Baby? D’you want me to?”

His fingers wouldn’t stop rubbing between his cheeks, and he watched with satisfaction as Dennis struggled. Eventually, Dennis gave up; he cradled Mac by the back of the head again instead, thumbs rubbing languid circles behind Mac’s ears. Mac looked into his twisted-up face for a long minute, the two fingers playing with his hole never stilling, before he closed his eyes and dipped to suck the head of his cock back into his mouth.

Dennis was getting noisier, moaning and crying out every time Mac bobbed his head. That was the only reason he knew that Dennis was close, because Dennis didn’t say anything. His legs fell open wider, encouraging Mac to take more of him, as much as he wanted.

Mac grasped him closer with hands on his ass, and he carefully rolled them over until he was the one being flattened to the bed with Dennis straddling his face and finally free to rut as much as he wanted. As he kept squeezing his ass, a few of his fingers trailed down the crack until he was brushing Dennis’s hole again. Dennis cursed loudly, hips rocking forward hard.

“I’m gonna come,” Dennis gasped, and satisfaction sunk down to the bottom of Mac’s gut and spread. “I’m gonna come, Mac, you’re gonna make me — I wanna do it on your face. Can I — ?”

Mac fell back to the sheets with a gasp at the sudden intake of oxygen, his head swimming. The moment he had even an inkling of his bearings, he grabbed for Dennis’s hips, reaching to grab his cock, but before he could get there Dennis had already taken himself in hand and thrust forward with a sigh of relief.

“Mac,” he said, and that was Mac’s entire warning but it was enough: He sunk down into the bed, spreading out, eyes closing as his mouth tipped open, tongue lolling out, and Dennis came across his lips and cheeks and chin.

Dennis sat with his thighs across Mac’s shoulders as he pulled in short, winded breaths. After a minute or so, he collapsed beside him heavily enough to make the bed shake. He was panting so loud.

Mac swiped the back of his hand across his face, clumsily cleaning himself off. He cast around for a good place to wipe the jizz, but barring Dennis’s chest and the pristine bedsheets (last time he’d ruined them, Dennis made him do laundry at 1a.m.), nothing was within easy reach; everything required leaving the intoxicating bubble of Dennis’s arm’s length, and he wouldn’t do that. Shrugging, he licked the come away instead.

When Mac rolled over onto his side, Dennis had his eyes closed and his arm thrown across his face like those paintings of a faint Victorian woman. The deep movements of his chest suggested he wasn’t quite returned to normal yet, but Mac had waited long enough. He curled against Dennis’s side, arm slipping across his waist, leg snaking between Dennis’s. He nuzzled at his shoulder, pressing a kiss there too. He had no idea where the towel was anymore, and he couldn’t tell if Dennis’s skin was slick from the shower still or if he was just sweating.

“That was so sexy,” Mac told him earnestly, dotting more kisses up toward his neck. “You’re so sexy.”

Dennis snorted. He glanced to the side at Mac, and finally shifted to face him too. He reached out, cupping Mac’s cheek in his hand and stroking his jaw. His eyes were careful on the movement of his thumb, and Mac’s mouth fell open watching him, feeling breathless.

Dennis pulled him closer, kissed him slow. Mac sighed, clutching him by the waist as he grinded his aching cock against Dennis’s thigh, and he moaned softly with relief.

“I’m trying to establish an afterglow here,” Dennis said, prissy, pulling his leg away. Mac trailed a wet mouth down his shoulder. “Would you mind not being so slutty all over my afterglow?”

Mac clutched him tighter and thrust more insistently against his thigh. He kept Dennis’s hips held firm, steadying him in place while Mac found his rhythm. He buried his face in Dennis’s neck and bit up toward where he was sensitive just beneath his ear.

“I know,” Dennis shushed him, moving him onto his back. Mac made a frustrated noise when they briefly broke contact, wrapping arms around his waist as soon as Dennis shifted to sit on top of him. Dennis dropped a kiss to his waiting lips, not long enough to satisfy him. He smoothed a hand through Mac’s hair. “I know, baby, you haven’t come yet. Poor Mac. I never leave you hanging though, do I?” He ducked down, near enough to kiss. When Mac shook his head, their noses brushed together. Dennis split into a grin and did it again, slower and more deliberate. “So would you just trust me?”

When Dennis kissed him — the right way this time, mouth opening against Mac’s — Mac held him there with fingers spread across the back of his neck. Dennis shifted so he was lying down more than sitting up on top of him, wedging a thigh through Mac’s so he could go back to humping it even though Dennis would make fun of him for acting like a horny dog later. It just felt so _good_ , he couldn’t stop. Dennis laid his forearms on either side of Mac’s head for balance as he began trailing his warm mouth down his cheek.

Mac pushed him onto his back, but Dennis sat up fast. Nonetheless, Mac was determined to climb on top of him — when he slung a knee over Dennis’s lap, Dennis seemed to agree to compromise to this position, because he grasped Mac’s ass and yanked him closer. Mac tilted his face up to kiss again, tongue slipping into his mouth with a sigh. His hips shifted forward, restless, hard cock trapped between them. He thrust shamelessly into Dennis’s stomach.

“Fuck,” Dennis breathed. “You’re so hard. Want me to touch you, is that it? Do you want me to jack you off?”

“Dennis,” he groaned, name slipping from between his teeth.

Dennis’s nose brushed his jaw.

“Use your words,” he teased. He laid a soft kiss to the tender skin beneath Mac’s chin.

Mac kept him pulled against the curve of his neck. Biting his lip, his hips shifting. Dennis squeezed his ass again.

“I want…” Mac swallowed. Saying what he wanted was harder than he anticipated. Dennis mouthed wildly against the side of his neck, pulling him in, encouraging him. “Dennis…”

He couldn’t do it. He writhed, restless. It occurred to him that he didn’t even know what he wanted, just that he wanted it very, very much.

“That’s okay,” Dennis breathed. His mouth brushed his collarbone, his Adam’s apple, his chin. “I know what you need.”

Again, he said, “Dennis.”

Hushing him, kissing all over his face, Dennis shifted Mac off his lap. Mac grasped at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, urging him back in. With hands framing Mac’s face, Dennis kissed him on the mouth one last time and slipped off the bed to his knees. Forehead creasing in concentration, Dennis’s hands found his thighs and drew him around, hauling him to the edge of the bed.

“Come here, gorgeous,” he whispered, and he seemed to be talking to Mac’s thighs because that’s the first place he put his lips as soon as he dragged Mac close enough.

He just kissed the insides for a long time, no matter how Mac raked through his hair, silently pleading for more. Eventually Mac gave up and just stroked his curls, letting Dennis explore. One long finger swirled on the shamrock on his thigh. Dennis snorted, shaking his head. He propped his chin gently on Mac’s leg.

“This is still the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Mac framed his face for a second, thumb steady on his temple. He reached to weave his fingers through Dennis’s and grounded their joined hands on the bed. Dennis pressed his lips to the pressure point inside his thigh.

“It’s not stupid,” Mac argued. “That’s, like…my heritage. You’re disrespecting my heritage, bro.”

Dennis laughed meanly.

“It’s a tramp stamp,” he said. “It’s a different kind of tramp stamp. God, I didn’t even realize that there were others.”

Mac exhaled.

“You’re the one between somebody’s legs,” he reminded him.

Dennis rubbed his cheek against his thigh.

“Yeah,” he said, softer. “And you’re the one letting me.”

“Well, I’m _trying_ , anyway,” he said. Rolling his eyes, Mac bumped his hips up a little. “You’re just not playing along like you said you would.”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” he promised. “I’m just saying it’s trashy, that’s all.”

“Dennis.” He wasn’t whining. He squeezed Dennis’s fingers. “You know it makes you hot.”

“I would have to be the most delusional man on Earth.”

He tracked more soft kisses up Mac’s leg until he got to the crease of it, where his mouth suddenly got hotter, and left wetter traces. So focused on waiting for Dennis’s lips to wrap around his cock, Mac jolted when he felt his hand on him instead. He instinctively jerked up into the grip.

“Oh,” he said, unexpected and small.

Dennis’s laughter interrupted his journey downwards. The tug of his hand skated on uncomfortable, nothing slicking the way, but Dennis’s chin bumped clumsily into his sack on his journey to press his tongue to them and Mac didn’t mind the lack of lubrication after all. This more than made up for it.

But after a minute, Dennis paused. Mac squirmed against his mouth. Dennis let go of his cock to spit into his hand.

“Bump your hips up,” he murmured.

When Mac did, Dennis pulled him a little closer by the hips so that he was perched on the very edge of the bed, still canting up at a better angle. Dennis pumped him again with his wet hand and pushed his face down between Mac’s legs, far enough until he could easily suck one of his balls into his mouth. Mac gasped, tightening his fingers in Dennis’s and fucking up into his grip.

Dennis mumbled something around his mouthful.

The pressure on his hand increased.

“What?”

“This is the worst fucking angle,” Dennis spat, and he levered up to crush his mouth to Mac’s. At the same time, he slid his fingers free from the gaps between Mac’s own and reached down to replace his warm tongue with his palm.

Dennis brought him off just like that, one hand on his cock and the other tugging on his balls, his tongue in Mac’s mouth — he was everywhere, in all of Mac’s senses. When he came, he bit down on Dennis’s lip hard enough to nearly break skin, and he tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of his head, stroking through all those soft, fluffy strands that were finally beginning to dry from the shower. Mac broke the kiss to let his head fall back, sighing.

When he came to, Mac realized he had begun unconsciously petting at Dennis’s head, and Dennis was holding Mac’s thighs open as he ducked to kiss — mostly with his tongue — down his abs. Blinking south, Mac took in a shuddering breath at how Dennis was sprawled on the floor: naked, knees spread far enough that he was sunk level with Mac’s torso, hands keeping Mac’s legs far enough apart to accommodate his body. Mac sighed, some needy sound that got punched out of him. He brushed his fingers more frantically through Dennis’s hair.

“Baby,” he whined. “Dennis, come here. Come up to me.”

His stomach was still dirty. He didn’t care; that was so easy to ignore when Dennis was climbing over him to get into bed, and Mac twisted around to wrap his arms around his waist and nuzzle his shoulder as they collapsed on the pillows.

“Alright, alright,” Dennis muttered, half-extricating himself from Mac’s chokehold on his body. He slid his hand up Mac’s thigh, grazing over the shamrock and curving to hold his hip. He stroked there with his thumb. “You don’t have to crush me about it.”

Mac buried his nose in Dennis’s neck.

“M’sorry,” he murmured. He pressed his lips to the skin beneath him.

“Alright,” Dennis said again.

He rolled onto his back, but he pulled Mac with him so he could collapse on top of him. Mac let him take care of rearranging their tangled limbs, of shifting Mac into a more comfortable position. The only time Mac moved was to writhe until Dennis’s sharp shoulder wasn’t digging directly into the center of his chest anymore, and when he settled, Dennis snaked his arms around him and held him tight. Mac never took his face out of his neck.

They needed a very long time to climb out of bed. Mac still had to clean up from climaxing, and they shuffled around the bathroom together while Dennis shellacked himself in foundation and mascara. By the time they locked up and climbed into Dennis’s car, it was nearing five.

“We’re barely gonna have time for one drink together,” Mac said anxiously, clasping Dennis’s free hand over the center console as soon as he was done shifting into drive.

Dennis curled their fingers more solidly together and rested them both on Mac’s thigh.

“Haven’t you ever paid attention while I drive, Mac?” he asked. “I have a tendency to speed. Besides, you get breaks during your shift, don’t you?”

“Not enough,” he said. He squeezed Dennis’s hand restlessly.

For some reason, Dennis laughed.

They found street parking a short walk from the bar. Mac pulled Dennis by the hand around the line outside, cutting right to the front with a nod to Aaron at the door. His security tee came through for them again, and he easily cut a sizeable gap into the bodies pressed to the bar, big enough for him and Dennis to squeeze in next to each other.

“Can you get me a jack and coke? Tell him the whole order is mine,” said Mac, holding Dennis close with fingers spread across his lower back. Dennis nodded, and Mac ducked in to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go clock in. I’ll find you guys in five minutes?”

“Ten, if this bartender keeps going this slow,” Dennis said, lips curled back over his teeth in disgust. Mac caught his hand again and squeezed before pulling himself away.

He got momentarily waylaid by his supervisor in the back. By the time he ducked her, he only had five more minutes before his shift was meant to start. Dennis, Dee, and Charlie were already lounging around a half-circle booth with drinks in hand, laughing their way through some story Charlie was telling; Mac pushed in next to Dennis even though it made everyone else have to shuffle over. He squeezed his knee and grabbed the drink he’d ordered, from which Dennis had definitely been stealing sips.

“What’s everyone talking about?” asked Mac, only for Dee and Charlie to shush him so that Dennis could continue talking. Dennis’s fingers crept over his beneath the table.

Only when he was done did Dennis turn to him, lifting Mac’s chin so he could plant a kiss to his mouth. In an undertone, so no one else could hear beneath whatever Dee was blabbering about, Dennis murmured, “Aren’t you supposed to be on shift right now?”

“Two minutes. Two minutes,” said Mac, smoothing down wrinkles out of Dennis’s flannel.

“Should you be drinking?” Dennis said, but he was grinning as he asked it, and when Mac started laughing Dennis circled his wrist and just held him there, thumb stroking him gently.

“Hey, Mac.” Charlie kicked at his ankles.

“I said two more minutes,” Mac complained.

“Two minutes to what?” said Charlie. “I was just gonna ask when you were getting off tonight, so you can come sit down with us.”

“Oh. Not until close,” he said. Absently, he reached up and started playing with a curl of hair at the back of Dennis’s head. “If we’re not too tired, maybe we can go somewhere after that, somewhere that stays open later?”

“Maybe,” said Dennis. Mac dropped his hand as Dennis slung an arm over his shoulders. He pressed into Dennis’s body heat. “Is there somewhere close by that’s open past one?”

“We’ll figure something out,” said Dee. “Hey Mac, since you work here, do you think you can get us a couple of drinks on the house or something?”

“Um, _duh_ ,” Mac lied.

With a thick surge of something like jealousy mixed with longing surging through him every time that he looked over, Mac whiled away his shift watching the others laugh and talk and smack at each other all over the bar. He wanted, more than anything, to somehow finish his shift in the next five minutes so that he could rejoin them. Regardless, Mac kept gravitating back over to their table and sneaking beer out of everybody’s mugs; his supervisor told him off at least four times for slacking, but the last time wasn’t even his fault because someone was hitting on Dennis at the bar and he had to go over there and flirt, with a hand low on his back where he liked to keep it.

He went chasing after some kids who snuck in the back and by the time he had kicked them all out into the streets again, the others’ booth was empty. Mac flung the handful of fakes out the back door after the high school kids and, as he turned, glimpsed Dennis over at the bar. He paused, watching Dennis lean up so that the bartender could hear him better over the music.

Midway through his order, Dee came up behind him and squeezed her way to his side. They laughed, nodding at each other about something. Dee turned around to call out over her shoulder, and Charlie popped up moments later, saying something that made the twins both roll their eyes. Warmth squeezed through Mac’s veins, feeling homey and good as it mixed with his blood. He had the distinct sense that this could easily become his new normal, if they all wanted that — they could do this every single night, just the four of them together, until it was routine and then until it was so familiar that it almost became boring. He would be just fine with that.

Mac smiled and went back to checking IDs.


	9. untangling strings from around my wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis threw open his door, wearing a bright smile. He was brandishing a small handful of bright yellow flowers.
> 
> “Hi,” he said. He darted forward, pressing a kiss just off-center of Mac’s mouth. When he began to draw back, Mac swiftly encircled his waist and kept him pulled close, cradling his jaw to kiss him again, and better.
> 
> “Hey,” he breathed, eyes on Dennis’s mouth.
> 
> Dennis was turning red when he pulled clumsily out of Mac’s arms, hands on his biceps, and fell back through the doorway.
> 
> “For you,” Dennis said breathlessly. He thrust the flowers toward him again. “They’re lilies.”
> 
> Mac grinned as he took them. This was a newly resurrected tradition: The past few times they’d gone out on a date, Dennis gave him flowers to go with it. They always had a note attached, tied around the stems to keep the bundle held together.

Dennis threw open his door, wearing a bright smile. He was brandishing a small handful of bright yellow flowers.

“Hi,” he said. He darted forward, pressing a kiss just off-center of Mac’s mouth. When he began to draw back, Mac swiftly encircled his waist and kept him pulled close, cradling his jaw to kiss him again, and better.

“Hey,” he breathed, eyes on Dennis’s mouth.

Dennis was turning red when he pulled clumsily out of Mac’s arms, hands on his biceps, and fell back through the doorway.

“For you,” Dennis said breathlessly. He thrust the flowers toward him again. “They’re lilies.”

Mac grinned as he took them. This was a newly resurrected tradition: The past few times they’d gone out on a date, Dennis gave him flowers to go with it. They always had a note attached, tied around the stems to keep the bundle held together.

Mac grabbed the lilies, feeling Dennis’s eyes on him. He fingered the edge of the card, but didn’t open it.

“Thanks,” he said, dragging his gaze back up to Dennis’s. He wanted to tear open the note but he knew better than to do it here, in front of Dennis. He’d done that exactly once and Dennis had watched him with eyes too wide, hovering too close to his shoulder, and before Mac had gotten even halfway through Dennis had snatched it back and torn it into pieces, telling him viciously not to even bother. Mac had gone home by himself shortly thereafter — so now, he waited to open them until he was alone. Evidently, Denis couldn’t handle the stress. “Ready to go?”

“Come in for a second,” said Dennis, ushering him through the door.

Mac put the flowers down on the glass table in the entryway where the twins kept a bowl of keys and the like. He didn’t see any reason to actually take the gift home, since he would inevitably be back next week to plant them in Dennis’s backyard. While Dennis went to get finish dressing and find his keys, Mac grabbed a vase and left the lilies in the kitchen, by the windowsill. He untied the note first.

_Roses are red_

_But they are always thorny_

_You’re a pain in my ass_

_But you still make me horny :)_

_D_

Mac rolled his eyes, tucked the card in his back pocket. He guessed that Dennis couldn’t do his best work _every_ time.

Dennis was waiting for him in the foyer.

“Ready?” he asked brightly.

As soon as Mac was close enough, he took Dennis’s hand. With a laugh, Dennis pulled him outside, and Mac stood silently by while Dennis messed with the faulty front lock. He slipped his hand into Mac’s back pocket on the short walk to the car.

“Whose _is_ this?” Charlie asked.

Sprawled on the couch, Mac glanced up from the TV.

“Uh, we don’t get that many visitors, dude.”

“I know,” said Charlie. He brandished the source of his confusion and Mac frowned, studying the cooking pot in Charlie’s hand. “So I’m really wondering where in the hell we got _this_? Neither one of us cook, bro.”

“Give me that,” said Mac, jumping up to snatch it out of his hand. Cheeks pinking, he shoved it hastily back in to the cabinet. “It’s ours.”

“Since when?” he asked, genuinely mystified.

Mac sighed. “Since now, Charlie. Just drop it.”

“Have we always had that?”

Charlie was following him back out into the living room, now. Mac sighed. They both resumed their places on the couch, picking back up their controllers. He was just in a bad mood because he kept losing Mario Kart, Mac reasoned. Nothing more. It wasn’t his fault that Charlie did nothing except get high and sit here, seeing as he had no love life to speak of.

“I have no fucking idea, dude.”

“I mean, do I just not open up our cabinets?” Charlie seemed to be rambling to himself, now. “I just can’t believe we own something that isn’t secondhand. I could have been making us twice as many Grilled Charlies since it won’t catch fire on the stove—”

“Dennis gave it to me last week, okay?” Mac snapped. He huffed. “Jesus Christ, Charlie. Can you just leave it alone?”

Charlie frowned.

“Woah, woah,” he said, holding up his hands. “What’s crawled up your ass, bro?”

Mac sighed. He watched his fingers, fiddling with the controller even though their game was paused.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Can we just get back to the fucking game, please? Dennis is gonna be here to pick me up in like twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, dude.” Charlie shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

“Good,” said Mac mulishly.

They played a few more intense rounds together before a featherlight knock came on the door.

With his feet kicked up, Charlie called, “Just a second!”

Mac hit pause and jumped up, ignoring Charlie’s frustrated cries behind him.

“Hi,” said Mac, before he’d even fully opened the door.

Dennis, lounging against the wall, smirked. He held out a single blue flower.

“Thanks,” said Mac, grabbing it from him and holding it to his nose to smell. Dennis grinned.

“It’s an orchid,” he said, shrugging his way inside past Mac. “You don’t know how rare the blue ones are, it was a great find. Hey Charlie.”

Behind him, Charlie had leaned across the couch and hit unpause on Mac’s discarded controller. He was currently entrenched in decimating Mac’s avatar, and he didn’t look up from the game.

“Hey.”

Dennis turned back to Mac briskly. “Ready to go?”

“Let me put this down first at least!” Mac shielded the flower from him when Dennis reached for his hand, brushing him aside. “God, Dennis.”

Dennis rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Mac carefully laid the orchid on his dresser. He slipped the string off the stem first. On a little square of paper smaller than a post-it, Dennis had written so small that Mac had to squint to read it.

_Most of these puns are cheesy and stupid_

_and I stole them from Pinterest boards anyway_

_But I lilac you a lot_

_so I’ve given it thought_

_and there’s a few things that I wanna say:_

_You make Mondays not suck_

_and I almost kind of give a fuck_

_when you tell me all the boring shit about your day_

_So, some day this week when you’re not working late_

_We’ve been on enough dates_

_that we can finally plant an entire bouquet_

_D_

Grinning to himself, he slipped the note into the bottom drawer of his bedside table and grabbed a sweatshirt. Dennis took his hand when he came back into the other room.

“Let’s go, we’re gonna miss our reservation,” he said. He was already pulling Mac toward the door. “Charlie. Good to see you.”

“Bye,” Charlie called. He still didn’t look up from the TV. Dennis rolled his eyes and tugged Mac outside.

Their dinner table was situated on the terrace. Mac kept his sweatshirt on; Dennis was perusing the drinks menu but Mac frowned, rubbing his arms as he looked around.

“Everything alright?” asked Dennis, glancing at him.

“Why did we sit outside?” said Mac. “It’s cold.”

“Well — yeah,” said Dennis. He gestured over the edge of the terrace; they were a story up so they could see a lot, a small lawn below and the city spilling out into the distance. “Just look at that view, though.”

“It’s nice,” said Mac, albeit sulkily.

Dennis’s frustrated gaze lingered on him, nover the list of wine.

“I know it’s nice, Mac,” he said shortly, refocusing on the drinks. “That’s the entire point of it.”

Mac was still frowning long after Dennis’s attention wandered. Dennis didn’t glance at him again, and Mac went back to scanning the entrees.

“Okay,” Mac grumped.

Dennis cleared his throat, but Mac didn’t look up at him. He tucked his hands into his armpits and kept trying to figure out what a _casarecce_ was based on the assortment of similarly unfamiliar and unpronounceable words listed in the description next to _octopus_. It didn’t even sound appetizing but none of the other food looked remotely familiar.

Dennis exhaled hard, his nostrils flaring. Mac frowned.

“Do you want my suit jacket, sweetheart?” Dennis asked tightly.

“No,” said Mac. He kicked at one of the table legs. “I want you to be warm too.”

“It’s not that chilly,” said Dennis. His shoulders tightened, though, nearly reaching his ears. He buttoned the top of his jacket shut.

Mac stuck out his lower lip and went back to the menu.

Dennis sighed. He reached for Mac’s hand, but Mac pulled back at the last minute, fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. Dennis’s brow furrowed.

“Are you gonna be a bitch about this all night?” he demanded.

Mac scowled.

“I’m not being a bitch, Dennis,” he snapped. “I’m just looking out for both of our health! If you get a cold, then you’re gonna sulk and whine at me for fucking _days_ until it’s over. And by then, I’ll have your cold, because you’ll probably just pitch a goddamn fit if I don’t stick around to watch you hack your lungs up! And you won’t even _pretend_ to stay and help me get better too!”

“Charlie told me,” Denis said, crossing his arms, “that every time you get sick you just leave _tissues_ lying all over the goddamn room. _Used tissues_ , Mac! And that’s disgusting. I can’t be around it. I _won’t_ be around it. I could get sick all over again, and the cycle will never end—”

“I’d stay for you!”

“I wouldn’t ask for you to!”

“Well goddamn, Dennis! Goddamn it!” Mac’s palms slapped down to the table so hard that it shook their silverware. “I guess I’ll just let you shrivel up and _die_ , then, if you want to so badly! And God help me if you ever forgive me for it!”

“Fine!” said Dennis, slapping his hands down too, and using that to push himself to his feet. “Fine, Mac! Then let’s just go sit inside!”

“No,” said Mac. He crossed his arms; his chin jutted out as he frowned over the side of the terrace. “You’ll be mad at me all night.”

Dennis’s teeth were gritted.

“No I won’t,” he said. “Just — Let’s go inside, Mac.”

Mac glared at him. Dennis glared right back.

“Fine,” Mac said after a moment, getting to his feet. “But only because you want to.”

“I’m—” Dennis looked furious, his fist cocking back so for a split second Mac thought he was going to punch his dinner plate into shards, but before he could, their waiter interrupted them.

“Everything alright, gentleman?” he asked, hands fluttering nervously in the air. “Do you need something?”

“Dennis wants a new table,” said Mac. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Dennis whip around to stare at him, wide-eyed, scandalized. “Something inside, please. He gets cold when it drops below fifty.”

After some shuffling and several hushed conversations with coworkers, the waiter led them back inside the building. Dennis pinched Mac’s side so sharply that he gave a yelp, leaping back.

“Pinning shit on me…” Dennis muttered.

Mac ducked and planted a fat kiss to Dennis’s cheek. He colored, falling abruptly silent. A grin on his face like a triumphant king, Mac took the side of their new booth that faced the front door and pushed one of the menus toward Dennis.

“Can I get a whiskey sour?” he asked, before the waiter wandered off. Mac wasn’t looking at him, already chewing on his water straw. “And he’ll take a margarita.”

The waiter walked away muttering; when Mac looked up Dennis was watching him with his mouth open.

“What?” said Mac defensively.

Dennis’s mouth shut. He swallowed, fumbling to pick up his menu.

“Nothing.”

A new worker — a woman this time — came by and dropped off their drinks after ten minutes. Dennis shoved both their menus toward her as they prattled off their orders.

“So,” said Mac, folding his hands on the table.

Dennis said, “ _Hmm_ ,” and reached to fiddle with a rose in the vase between them. His gaze flickered up, watching him, but Mac didn’t really have a plan for where that thought was going; he watched Dennis’s hands instead. They were infinitely more intriguing.

“Hey, why do swanky places like this always put these on the tables anyway?”

Dennis looked up. He kept flicking at a petal. “Put what?”

“These.” Mac poked the vase with two fingers, hard enough to shove it a few inches away.

“Oh,” said Dennis, straightening. He smoothed crinkles out of the napkin laid across his lap. “Well, these are roses, Mac—”

He rolled his eyes. “I _know_ what roses look like, Dennis.”

“Yes. Well.” Dennis sniffed. “Roses are supposed to symbolize passion, and love. Mostly passion.”

Mac sniffed. “So, they’re like, for when you’re really really horny for somebody? Why would restaurants want to make people horny? That’s really gross, dude.”

“What? No, you idiot,” he said, shaking his head. “Passion isn’t always about _sex_ …They just mean, like romance. They’re for the most intense, passionate romances.”

“Oh.”

Mac folded his hands back on his lap. Shooting him disbelieving, affectionate glances, Dennis reached to break off a piece of complimentary bread. Mac sipped at his whiskey sour, lost in thought.

“You really know a lot about this kinda thing, don’t you, Den?” he asked.

Dennis looked up. He still had a piece of bread halfway in his mouth, and he chewed slowly, eyes on Mac.

“A lot about what?”

“Flowers.”

Dennis snorted.

“Uh, _yeah_ , Mac,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s kind of my whole career.”

“No, I know. I just meant, like…You must know a lot about what the different meanings are and shit.”

He nodded carefully. “I do,” he allowed.

Dennis was still watching him, but more shrewdly. Mac stared at his finger making circles on the table.

“Do you…Do you think about that a lot?”

Dennis sighed.

“Just get to the point, Mac,” he said impatiently. He might as well have been snapping his fingers. “What are you trying to say?”

“All the flowers you’ve been giving me. Do they mean something too?”

A few seconds passed, and still no answer. No sound from across the table at all. Mac’s pointer finger stopped on the table, and he glanced up. Dennis looked supremely uncomfortable, and he crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat.

“Dennis?”

“Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” he spat. “Why do you wanna know—”

“Because it’s _nice_ , Dennis!” he said. “Jesus. I’m not making fun of you! I mean, you — We’re — you _know_.”

Dennis frowned, looking away from him.

“They don’t mean anything,” he said, frowning at a distant wall. “I just picked some random shit I thought would look good in my yard. Drop it.”

“Christ, baby.” Mac rolled his eyes. He reached across the table, palm upturned. “I’ll just look it up online later anyway.”

“I’m smashing your phone and computer,” Dennis griped.

He didn’t put his hand in Mac’s. Mac withdrew and clasped them together in his lap, waiting.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dennis said. His cheeks were burning, and he was looking somewhere in the vicinity of Mac’s shirt collar instead of directly into his face. “I’ll tell you the ones I can remember.”

A hurricane hit Philly toward the middle of October. Mac, Dennis, Charlie, and Dee all brought a bottle of liquor — their choice — to the apartment, each trickling in after they got out of work that day. Dee and Charlie were there when Mac got off, and they’d already broken into Dee’s bottle of vodka. When Dennis finally swung by, three hours later, Mac was stumbling as he got up to open the door.

“Hey,” he said, giggling.

Dennis grabbed his hand to keep him upright, watching Mac with a disbelieving smile.

“Hey there, Mac,” he said carefully. “Got started without me, I see?”

“You took a really fucking long time to lock up,” Dee accused, hiccupping. Charlie sloshed more vodka into her cup. Grinning indulgently at him, Dee splashed in some soda as well and added, “Do you want us to mix you a cup, Dennis? We’re playing cards.”

Dennis shrugged.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging off his coat. “What are we playing?”

“It’s a game Mac and I made up in grade school,” said Charlie. “Mac, make the man a drink.”

Dennis touched his waist.

“Strong,” he said. Mac nodded.

They drank to card games and trash TV until the early hours. The rain outside picked up around eleven, but it was still going at full force at three in the morning when Charlie finally prodded a dozing Dee off the couch so that he could unfold it into his bed. They both collapsed, curling up on opposite sides beneath the covers the second that it flattened out. Dee didn’t even kick up a fuss about there being no bottom sheet.

Pressing a finger to his lips, Dennis plucked at Mac’s wrist.

“Come on,” he stage-whispered, too loud in the sleepy quiet.

They crept into Mac’s room, tripping over one of the empty bottles of vodka on their way. It caused a hell of a ruckus when Mac fell to the ground and accidentally kicked the bottle into the wall with a crash, and Dennis cussed him out under his breath, but their friends on the couch didn’t wake. Mac curled their fingers together and pulled Dennis after him.

They dressed in comfortable silence. Dennis used the bathroom first, coming back smelling like he’d stolen Mac’s face wash and toothpaste while he was gone. When Mac came back and closed his bedroom door, careful not to let it creak too noisily, Dennis was standing at the foot of his bed studying what he’d set up atop his dresser.

Without looking, Mac pressed himself to Dennis’s back and laid a kiss on the curve of his shoulder. He ran his hands up Dennis’s sides, rucking up his t-shirt a little.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” His voice was all groggy and low with the urge to sleep. “Come to bed.”

Dennis didn’t move. Mac pulled back just a little to study his face, the view perfect in profile. His hands were still fastened at his waist.

“You put out my note,” Dennis said, pointing. Propped up beside a stack of old magazines and a little Jesus figurine, the card Dennis had tied to the very first vase of flowers stood half-open on his dresser. Mac stroked Dennis’s t-shirt back down into place, his gaze lingering on the note. “You kept that?”

“Yeah,” he said easily, nearly a question. No need to mention to Dennis that he had all the others strewn about the nightstand’s bottom drawer — he crossed the room and climbed into bed. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” said Dennis. “I was gonna stay up and have another drink, though.”

He gestured to the bedside where he usually slept, where the vodka Dennis had brought sat along with the mugs they’d been drinking out of before.

“Lay down at least, Dennis. It’s late.”

Mac was already settled under the comforter, lying back on the pillows, when Dennis tore himself away from looking around Mac’s room as though he had never been here before. Just in his t-shirt and boxers, Dennis snuggled up beneath his arm, holding him around the waist. He nestled his cheek into Mac’s shoulder.

“I thought you wanted to drink,” Mac said, rubbing circles in between Dennis’s shoulder blades. Not that he minded: He was very comfortable here.

“I do,” Dennis said. He pushed himself up, hand clumsy on Mac’s thigh for support.

Mac watched the muscles in his back shift as he mixed them drinks as best he could without moving from his spot on the mattress. As he often did, Mac was thinking about how lucky he was. That Dennis wanted to spend his nights here, drunk and warm in Mac’s arms, instead of anywhere else.

“Thanks,” he said, when Dennis gave him back his mug. He wrinkled his nose; it was incredibly strong, just how Dennis always made it. “Ugh. That’ll do the trick.”

“Good?” Dennis asked, glancing at him over his shoulder as he spilled juice into his own cup.

“Very good,” Mac said around the burn in his throat. “Hey, you don’t have work tomorrow, right?”

“Um, I have work almost every day, Mac,” he said. “You know this.”

“But you can take the day off if you really need to,” Mac pushed.

Dennis leveled him with a warning look.

“I would rather not, as that would incur a serious loss of income,” he said.

“Even with the hurricane?”

“It’s just a little light rain, Mac. It won’t be as bad as you think. Don’t let Dee’s paranoia get to you.” He frowned. “Why?”

Mac burrowed further under his sheets, clutching his vodka.

“I wanna go buy more flowers for your yard,” said Mac.

The long arch of Dennis’s eyebrow was intriguing to watch. He really could say _so_ much with so little. Frankly, it should be considered a talent.

“So? You can do that yourself,” said Dennis. “You know more or less what you’re doing by now.”

“I still want your _opinion_ ,” said Mac. His foot nudged Dennis’s beneath the sheets, and he curled infinitesimally closer. “It’s for your house anyway, Den.”

“Right. About that…”

Mac didn’t like the tone of voice. He hauled himself up so he was sitting again, and Dennis was drinking his vodka and juice but Mac thought it looked more like he was keeping himself busy than like he really wanted any.

“What?” said Mac, bristling. “You wanna change it up or something? _Really_ , Dennis? After all the work we’ve put into getting it exactly as we—”

“I think maybe we should forget the whole thing,” Dennis blurted out, and Mac went still.

Dennis seemed nonchalant, but the nervous tension in his shoulders gave him away. The rest was in the little things: How he avoided Mac’s eye as best he could. How he drank like he wasn’t in the middle of an infuriating conversation.

Mac’s eyes narrowed to a glower. Dennis bit his lip.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mac demanded.

“I just mean,” he said quickly, and the hand not gripping his mug slapped down on Mac’s thigh so hard it stung, “Sweetheart, it’s just…That garden takes up _so_ much of your time, and _so_ much of your focus. Last week you canceled dinner with me _twice_ just to sit around playing _music_ for them. And you have to admit — All that time and effort — and it’s not exactly an art exhibit—”

“And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Dennis?” he demanded. The curl of one fist landed on his hip as he sat up straight. “They’ve been doing much more better since we built them a little shelter! Last time I checked, we were—”

“Making absolutely zero progress,” Dennis finished flatly. “Mac, have you gone out there lately? It’s all half- _dead_. And need I remind you, but we’re about to get a fair amount of rain coming down. What little you managed to cultivate before is surely completely wrecked by now, even with the shitty cover, and all the summer buds obviously died _weeks_ ago. With this rain, our winter sprouts we just planted won’t be faring much better—”

“Dennis!” he snapped. He shoved him so hard that Dennis fell back, his drink sloshing onto his pajama pants and making him cry out. When Dennis sat back up, he grimaced, set his drink on the bedside table, and punched Mac in the bicep. Mac pushed him so his back hit the mattress. “Don’t be a fucking dick! I’ve been working so hard on that garden for you—”

“I know, gorgeous. I know,” Dennis said, patting his cheek this side of too hard to be consoling. “But turns out you’re shitty at it, so. Why do you say?”

Mac was so insulted that he just gaped at Dennis. Dennis arched a brow. He poked Mac in the side.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Mac?”

“What do I….What do _I_?” Mac demanded. He pushed at Dennis’s shoulder. “You fucking asshole, Dennis! My garden is _pristine_! I’m a fucking master, Dennis. You saw how good I’ve gotten since we started! You saw!”

Despite the fact that he was definitely not pleading, Dennis scooted closer until their thighs were pressed together in a long, hot line and rubbed Mac’s knee as though he needed the comfort.

“You’ve gotten much better,” said Dennis. His thumb stroked slow circles into Mac’s sweatpants, expression earnest. “But c’mon, Mac. Most of it’s just dead weeds that you haven’t pulled up yet.”

“And I’m not going to, Dennis,” he said stubbornly. He crossed his arms. “I’m working the long game, bro. You just don’t have the stones to understand. You don’t have the patience.”

Dennis stared at him.

“You’re right,” he said slowly, “I don’t. Which is why I’m pulling the plug on this operation _myself_.”

“ _What_?!”

“I’m serious,” said Dennis, nodding vigorously. His hand retracted from Mac’s knee, which was maybe the worst part. “No more gardening for you, I mean it.”

“You can’t stop me! How about _that_?”

“It’s my house!”

“And it’s my project, Dennis!” he said stubbornly. “Just try and keep me out of there, you bitch! I will break in in the middle of the night and plant flowers! I will hop the fence and spray pesticides all over your lawn, asshole! I’ll grow whatever I want, I’ll wait until you’re at work and pull weeds! I’ll wait until you’re asleep and climb out of bed and go make a compost heap all by _myself_ , I don’t need you for _shit_ , Dennis, I can gather up all the tools you’ve got lying around and build that all on my own, I’ll create the best fucking fertilizer that you’ve ever fucking seen on this side of the—”

“Woah,” said Dennis. His eyebrows jumped to his hairline, and his blank expression froze just as it was. “What?

Mac paused, stymied with his mouth half open. “What?”

Dennis scooted closer.

“The last thing. You want to make a what?”

But he didn’t sound mad anymore. Mac frowned, still defensive, and shifted to face Dennis dead-on.

“A compost heap,” he said. Dennis’s lips parted ever so slightly, like he had something to say, but nothing came out; Mac tongue poked out, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks, ever since that Sheila — You remember that dumb bitch I’ve been beefing with on the gardening SubReddit? — she made a whole thread about how composting can help your plants. I mean, she talked about the stupid _planet_ for a really long time, but then she was saying — it could help your shit grow big and strong. Like carboloading, but for plants! And yeah, I mean, I hate her, but I have to admit that it sounded really—”

“No, Mac, I…You don’t have to, like, convince me. I think that sounds like a great idea.”

Dennis sounded surprised. Hesitantly, Mac smiled.

“Thank you, Dennis.”

“I mean, the garden’s gonna keep on being shit, obviously.” Dennis stretched, lying back into his side of the bed. Mac’s attention flashed down to the bare skin above his hip that showed before Dennis put his arms back down. When he looked up, Dennis was smirking.

“No it’s not,” Mac argued, belated and without heat.

“This is gonna be great,” said Dennis.

He pulled on Mac’s arm until Mac shuffled close enough that their shoulders were touching. Dennis tugged at his elbow, annoyed. Mac knew what he was getting at, what he wanted; but first he drained the last of his liquor before settling properly into bed. One of them was going to have to move to shut off the light, which sounded supremely unpleasant even though they just had to reach up and flick the lamp.

“We can go to Lowe’s as soon as the storm lets up and they reopen,” said Dennis happily, and something with a molten core sank to the bottom of Mac’s gut, not yet exploded. “Not to sound like a couple of lesbians or anything, but I do have _very_ strict standards and I draw the line at Home Depot. We just need a bin or something, unless you wanted to build it yourself? In that case we can pick up some wood soon, if you work out the dimensions.”

“I’ll probably have to pick up extra shifts after the hurricane’s over,” Mac said mechanically. “To make up for all these days off.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Dennis said. He sounded sleepier, now, as he picked up Mac’s arm himself and curled it over his hips, leaning his back into Mac’s side and grunting in irritation when Mac didn’t immediately roll off his back to hug him from behind. “I really don’t even need you to come. It’s not a two-person job. I’ll just pick up the necessary supplies and bring it back to mine, hmm? We can get started the next time you come over. Whenever you’ve got a day off. We’ll make it into a whole afternoon.”

Mac forcibly unstuck his throat. “Yeah.”

Dennis grunted, pulling on Mac’s hand. “What are you doing? Get over here, you shit.”

He thought about telling Dennis it was too hot under the covers _and_ with Dennis pressing into him. He thought about waiting until Dennis fell asleep and carefully extricating himself from bed, maybe seeing if he couldn’t break into Dennis’s shiny new touchscreen phone so he could play one of the games on there that Dennis sometimes let him mess around with, when Mac was waiting on him and Dennis wanted him to stop being so bothersome.

Mac sighed.

“Turn off the light,” he said.

Dennis didn’t shift, not in the slightest. “No.”

“Then I’m not going to sleep.”

Dennis grumbled. He released Mac’s hand and stretched to turn off the lamp without moving from where he lay, and when he came back down, Mac turned over and pulled him close by the waist. Dennis settled in with a contented sound, making a show of settling his ass against Mac’s lap, because he was annoying and liked to start things he couldn’t finish just because he found it funny to wind Mac up; he covered Mac’s hand with his own, where it rested low on his stomach.

Mac kissed the back of his neck.

“’Night, Dennis,” he said quietly.

“Don’t wake me up for at least eight hours or I’ll make you sleep on the couch with Charlie and Dee tomorrow night,” Dennis said.

He squeezed Mac’s hand.

Dennis didn’t go back to work the next day, or the one after that. Dee’s paranoia was right for once, it seemed: The storm did break, briefly, after two days. They were running low on supplies, and after a lot of cajoling Charlie convinced Dee to break out of her panic attack long enough to drive him to the store. Mac and Dennis folded Charlie’s bed back into a couch and found some shitty movie on a high channel.

“Weather report says the worst of the storm should move past us by Saturday,” Dennis said. “We should be free of this shithole by early afternoon.”

Mac poked him hard in the sensitive inside of his thigh with the hand not thrown around his shoulders.

“Hey,” he barked, with as much energy as he could muster when he felt so lazy and warm. They had nothing to do today, just as they’d had nothing to do all week. More of the same, then: Watch TV until dark, play cards or a game or find yet another movie to drink to until they all passed out. Drag Dennis to bed, or the other way around. Wake up whenever they wanted the next morning and start over again. “Don’t knock my apartment, bro.”

“I’m just telling it like it is,” said Dennis. He squeezed Mac’s thigh. “The apartment is shitty.”

Mac pulled away from Dennis, crossing his arms over his chest instead.

“You can leave at any time,” he said.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dennis sighed. He laid back on the couch, kicking his feet into Mac’s lap and closing his eyes like a long-suffering woman overcome with hysteria, his arm tossed over his face. “Do you want to come to Lowe’s with me on Saturday or not?”

Immediately, Mac’s stomach curled over. His hands twisted on his lap, and something about the silence must have struck Dennis because he peeked one eye open to look at him. Dennis poked him with a socked toe.

“What?” he asked. Mac grabbed his ankle, pulling his foot away, but Dennis kicked free and jabbed at him again. “Mac, what?”

He propped himself up on both elbows to look at him. Mac frowned, gaze skating away across the room.

“Nothing,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about the compost, man. I’ll do it myself.”

Dennis laughed. “Don’t be stupid. I want to come…you know, make sure you’re not picking up anything egregious that will make my backyard look anymore awful than it already does. Besides, someone’s got to stop you from buying every fucking lawn gnome that catches your eye. I swear, you see any decoration dressed up in an ugly costume and something flicks off in your brain.”

“I wouldn’t buy anything stupid,” Mac muttered.

“You’re right, you won’t. Because you don’t have to,” said Dennis. “You know the good compost bins can run you up to a hundred dollars? I did some research. And that’s if you’re buying premade. I guess you could still build it yourself if you wanted, but even the materials for that will cost _something_.”

“I can handle it,” Mac snapped, looking at him for the first time.

“Can you?” Dennis needled. “Weren’t you just telling me that you had to pick up extra shifts to make up for the ones you were missing?”

“It’s fine, Dennis,” he said brusquely. He pushed Dennis’s legs off his lap and Dennis sat up, eyes wide and staring. “Just — don’t worry about it. I’ll get all the stuff and come through to yours whenever I get a ch—”

“What’s your problem?” Dennis demanded. “Why don’t you want me to come with you?”

Mac crossed his arms, his cheeks growing pink. “Dennis, I’m being serious: Leave it.”

“No.” And because Dennis _really_ didn’t know how to lay off, he jabbed Mac hard in the chest. “What’s going on here, huh? Got some secret errands you gotta run that I don’t know about? What, you fucking the guy at Lowe’s on the downlow or something, is that it?”

“Jesus, Dennis.” He shook his head. “Do you fucking hear yourself sometimes? Christ.”

“Well then, enlighten me, if you’re so fucking mysterious!” said Dennis. “Come on, I’m being real. Explain it to me. Why don’t you want me to come out with you?”

“God!” he burst out. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come with me, Dennis. I just don’t want you to pay!”

He paused, deep red blossoming across his face. Dennis stopped mid-retort, staring.

“ _What_?”

“I just…I know that you’re gonna insist on paying for everything,” Mac said, his hands twisting in his lap. “You know you will, Dennis, you always do.”

“Um…Yeah,” said Dennis, “I was planning on it.”

“I know!” Mac’s arms flung out so wide and wild that Dennis had to duck out of the way to avoid being hit in the nose. “That’s my whole problem, dude!”

“It is?” Dennis sounded genuinely and completely perplexed. “ _Why_? You know I can afford it, right? And you…” he shook his head, laughing as he looked Mac over, “…can’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t want for you to take it so personally, baby,” he said, scooting closer until their thighs were touching and grasping Mac’s arm. He didn’t uncross them, but Dennis stroked over his bicep, nice and soothing. The circles of his thumb really did feel nice, Mac thought begrudgingly. “It’s just the truth. But that’s why it’s good that I’m here! Because you get to do shit that you wouldn’t have otherwise had the chance to.”

“Well, I never fucking asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to!” Dennis pulled away from him, pounding his fists down, once, on his knees. “If I want to have dinner with you somewhere besides a fucking Jack in the Box, then I’m the one who’s paying for it! I know the deal. I don’t _mind_.”

“ _I_ do!” said Mac. “Christ, Dennis, are you serious? The whole reason it was so impossible to break up with Trevor was because he kept throwing money at me until I didn’t have one fucking thing for myself! Sure, it starts off with a dinner or two, but then you’re buying me shit for all my hobbies and next thing I know you’re trying to get me to give up my apartment and live shackled to you!”

Mac was breathing harder. Dennis just stared. He licked his lips, blinking slowly.

“That’s what this is about?” Dennis asked eventually.

“ _Yes_!” Mac stressed. “I know the deal, it’s little things at first but then I have _nothing_ on my own. And I fuck around on you, or you fuck off, and then — and then — Then I’m just shit out of luck. Because it’s a choice between living like that and being homeless, so I’m trapped!”

“Holy mother of God, Mac—”

“Don’t act like I’m wrong,” he said, scowling. “I know what this is. I’ve seen it before! You want to get me all nice and dependent, and then—”

“Christ, honey! I’m not trying to trap you, I just like seeing you smile!”

The lamps in Mac’s living room cast Dennis’s face into such a weird shade. Strange, that he’d never noticed that before — but he was noticing now. He was watching Dennis so thoroughly and carefully that he couldn’t have missed it for a second longer.

Dennis swallowed, shifting in his seat. He said, “I mean…”

Mac was aching to reach out and touch. He moved across the couch, a wave sweeping down the beach. Dennis’s eyes flickered shut when Mac circled his arms around him, but he was a steadfast, resistant force against him anyway. Mac took his face in his hands and kissed him — once, twice. Dennis reached to fasten his hands around Mac’s wrists and leaned into him too.

“Mac…”

He shushed Dennis down with more soft kisses pressed to his mouth. Dennis sighed, circling his arms around Mac’s neck and pulling him closer.

“I am happy,” Mac muttered, nosing at Dennis’s neck bashfully. “’N I’m not honey. I’d be something…way more badass.”

Dennis laughed.

“Like what?” he murmured.

“I dunno. But honey’s too sweet. _You_ could be honey, maybe. I’ll be…something sharp and cool.”

Dennis’s hands slid up his thighs.

“You can be vinegar,” he said.

Mac grinned. “Yeah! That’s good, dude. I’ll be vinegar.”

“Okay,” said Dennis, still smiling. “Vinegar.”

He cupped the sides of Mac’s neck, his jaw, and slid closer. Before Mac could even breathe he had leaned in and brushed his lips…to his cheek, and they both paused. Only after a few seconds had passed did his hands drop, slipping halfway down Mac’s chest. His lips took a little longer to disappear, but he leaned back slowly after a stilted moment.

“I…” said Dennis, looking confused. “I didn’t mean for that to be so—”

“I know,” Mac said quickly.

Their eyes tracked each other’s faces for a beat before Mac reached to encircle his wrists, transferring them to one hand so he could pull Dennis in at the same time as he cupped the back of his neck, and kissed him as soon as he was close enough. When he pulled away, he stroked Dennis’s cheek with his thumb and Dennis was looking at him like — well, like he never wanted to _stop_ looking at him. Like Mac had impressed or astonished him somehow. Mac swallowed, eyes flickering away and back. He hadn’t really done anything to warrant being looked at like that; it was overwhelming, without any just cause

Mac dropped his hands to Dennis’s thighs, rubbing little circles just above his knees.

“Wanna watch another movie?” he asked. Dennis was watching him very steadily when he nodded, his expression impossible to parse.

“There’s nothing good on TV,” Dennis whispered, just inches from him.

Mac pinched his thigh.

“I’ve got a stack of DVDs right over there,” he said. He jerked his head toward them but he didn’t look away, and when he pressed his lips to Dennis’s again, Dennis breathed out softly and leaned into it like he was starving.

After a minute or so, Dennis extricated himself and went to go thumb through the movie collection while Mac vetoed things from the couch. They settled on some mindless action flick Mac had seen a thousand times, and Dennis got them beers before he sat back down and told Mac he was good to press play now.

They got through about one quarter of the movie before Mac started feeling like Dennis was sitting too far away. He kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to be caught looking so much when Dennis wasn’t paying him any attention anymore. Hesitantly, Mac scooted closer to him; the arm thrown out across the back of the couch inched closer and closer to framing Dennis’s shoulders. Dennis’s hand found his knee when he got near enough, and Mac reached to muss up the hair at the back of his head. Dennis turned to glance at him but something in Mac’s expression seemed to make it stick — Mac only lasted a second before he leaned over to tip Dennis’s chin toward him with two fingers, and he kissed him.

Dennis clearly expected it to be short — but when he stopped, opening his mouth to say something, Mac pulled him back in and didn’t let him start.

“Oh,” Dennis said, as Mac kissed down his jaw, stroking it like he did when he wanted to start using tongue. “You don’t wanna watch the movie anymore?”

Mac huffed, his face buried in Dennis’s neck.

“Um, not really, dude.” His voice came out all muffled.

“Oh,” Dennis said again. “Yeah. That’s cool.”

Mac shook his head. He really loved that he had the option of kissing Dennis to make him shut up, because he didn’t know what the hell he’d do about it otherwise.

Dennis swayed toward him this time, but the angle was weird. His fingers curled into the front of Mac’s t-shirt, yanking him forward with deliberate intent. Mac slung a knee over one of Dennis’s legs and twisted with him when he moved to lay down, pulling Mac on top of him. Dennis sunk his teeth into Mac’s lower lip, his hands reaching to push up through his hair, and Mac sunk his body down. His arm curved to frame Dennis’s curls.

He gathered Dennis in his arms to pull him up with him as he sat back on his heels. Dennis’s thighs parted further to lay on either side of him. Mac reached to grab one of Dennis’s legs and shifted him closer, spreading him out over his lap.

Dennis cupped his face as they kept kissing. His hips had started to move, barely, but Mac could still feel it, pressed together as they were; he dragged Dennis’s hair between his fingers and Dennis’s head tipped back, his hips grinding down a little faster. Mac’s hands smoothed down his back. He twisted his fingers into the back of Dennis’s sweatpants, pulling until the elastic would surely be ruined, hauling him in closer. Dennis’s nails dragged down his chest, hiked up his shirt to run up Mac’s bare sides.

“You’re so hot,” Mac breathed, half in disbelief. He bit down on the sharp line of Dennis’s jaw. A breathy noise escaped him when Mac moved to kiss over his neck. Mac pulled on his waistband, yanking them until they were pulled tight against his ass. It made Dennis shudder out a breathy sound. “Shit. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dennis pulled his mouth up to kiss again, slipping in his tongue. Mac curved his hands down over his ass and squeezed.

“I wanna fuck you,” Mac breathed into the hollow of his neck, mouth moving over the same place. Dennis dug his nails into Mac’s back, the rhythm of his hips stuttering as he took a sharp breath in. Mac smiled. “Yeah? You want that too, angel?”

Dennis’s thighs spread further as he sank heavier into Mac’s lap. Mac pumped his hips up, grinding up into him slow. Mac fucking knew it — Dennis always looked at him with something hard to parse in his eye when Mac called him stuff like that, but Mac had him clocked. He got off on it. He liked it.

He grinned, hand spread out on Dennis’s back to push him closer to his chest. Dennis’s hand skimmed down between them only to feel him up again.

“Mac,” he said, sounding throaty. His eyes squeezed shut, neck arching back further. “Fucking touch me.”

The hand on his ass spread, and Mac pressed a finger down his crack to rub at his hole through all the fabric separating their skin. Dennis shuddered, pushing back on his hand. A soft moan slipped out of him and Mac gripped him tighter.

“Yeah, baby boy?” Mac whispered, and Dennis pressed himself down on Mac’s fingers. Too easy. But a second later he paused, pulling back. “Wait. How long do we have until Dee and Charlie get back?”

They were kind of in the middle of the living room.

But Dennis shook his head, ducking to kiss him again. Mac didn’t jump back into motion at all.

“The door’s locked, and I asked Charlie to swing by the packy to pick up more beer, too,” he assured him, pushing in to press his lips to Mac’s between every few words. “And then they’re dropping Dee off. She’s staying at what’s-her-name’s tonight. That coffee shop waitress she’s been sleeping with. Just — don’t worry about it. Keep going.”

“Oh, okay.”

Mac nodded quickly. He pulled Dennis in again, fingers jumping back to motion on his ass. His other hand reached down to press between his legs. It only took a second of Dennis rocking up into his touch and his kiss growing slacker and messier for Mac to try to yank down his sweatpants without making Dennis get up.

“Fuck,” said Dennis. He bit his lip, head tipping back, still grinding down on Mac’s lap. He looked amazing just like this, pink sitting high on his cheeks, his hair a little messy. “You’re gonna make me ruin these panties, man.”

Mac’s hands abruptly froze.

“You’re wearing panties?”

He could hear the way his voice had changed, dropping down into a gravellier octave. Dennis looked down at him and smirked.

“I sure am,” he said. He took Mac’s face in his hands, leaning near enough to rub the tips of their noses together. His eyes scrunched nearly closed as he smiled. “I thought we could sneak away a little bit later, but now’s good too. Do you wanna see what they look like?”

Struck dumb, Mac just nodded.

Dennis leveraged himself up with hands on Mac’s shoulders so Mac could wrestle down his pants and underwear. His fingers slipped on the silk panties, pulling them carefully down around his thighs, eyes glued to them for a few long seconds before he managed to tear himself away and put his hands back on Dennis’s hips. Dennis sat back in his lap, pulling Mac near enough to bury his face in his neck when Mac wrapped a hand around his dick. Dennis suckled on his lower lip and pushed his tongue into Mac’s mouth. He moaned when Mac started to jerk him off nice and easy.

“ _God_ ,” Dennis breathed, face tipped toward the ceiling. Mac licked up his bared throat on impulse. “Would you mind touching my ass again? That was — I liked that. I want you to do it again.”

Mac breathed out, “Sure,” into the collar of his t-shirt as he nuzzled at him, grabbing his ass again. He paused to spit in his hand before he went back to touching his cock, using that and some of the slick wetness at the head to ease the slide of his hand. When he rubbed up against his hole Dennis jolted into him, chest melting into Mac’s so that Mac was doing most of the work propping him up for a couple of seconds before Dennis got a hold of himself and sat up again. He pushed himself back with a hand on Mac’s chest that then dragged downwards so he could run it up underneath his t-shirt. Mac wouldn’t let him go long enough to strip it off completely but Dennis got his shirt tucked up beneath his arms, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth back onto his with a gasp.

Dennis ran his hands over Mac’s bare chest while he touched him. Mac loved it, every skate of his fingers; it wasn’t serving a purpose, he wasn’t doing anything to get Mac off. He just wanted to feel him. Just knowing that sent a burst of heat down south, made his cock twitch.

Dennis was thrusting up into his grip with less composure after just a few minutes, grinding back on his fingers more wildly. Mac bit down on the tender skin of his throat.

“Mac,” he choked out, hips stuttering forward, “I’m gonna — I’m really close, can you—”

“I wanna put my fingers in you,” Mac breathed into his ear, rubbing the pads of two fingers slow and deliberate over his hole. Dennis clutched him even closer, nails scrabbling at the back of his neck. “Huh, sexy? I wish we had some slick around. I wanna be inside you, I love how you sound whenever I’m fucking you—”

Dennis grabbed his cheeks and cut him off with a harsh press of their mouths, right before he tipped his head back and cried out as he came. Mac kissed all over his throat, still pumping his fist as Dennis rocked his hips and rode it out. Some of his come splattered on the sweatpants Mac hadn’t pulled down far enough, and Mac stared for a couple of seconds: He _had_ ruined the panties after all. They would need another wash after this, even though Dennis just showered and dressed a few hours ago.

Dennis shuddered as his hips slowed down and then stilled.

Mac guided him into a kiss, clutching at his back with both hands. Dennis was panting shallowly into his mouth more than kissing him back, but Mac didn’t mind. Dennis’s arms crossed behind his neck and he tipped his head to the other side, kissing growing more intent as he came back to himself. Dennis’s tongue slipped into his mouth and Mac leaned up into him, content to do just this for a good long while.

Dennis pulled away before Mac was done with him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dennis smoothed a hand through his hair, eyes warm. With the other, he carefully plucked at one of Mac’s wrists and put his dirty hand back in his own lap, away from Dennis’s body.

“Can you get me a towel?” he asked. When Mac just looked at him, he rolled his eyes and tried again, “Sweetie? Have the common decency to at least do this one basic little thing for me? Instead of getting jizz all over the couch and having to explain that to our friends when they get back? Please? And then meet me in the bedroom.”

Mac’s impulse to snap back at him not to be a lazy little bitch flickered out when Dennis smirked through the last part of his request. Taking advantage of Mac’s silence, Dennis dropped a brief kiss to his mouth and climbed out of his lap. He yanked his sweats back up, slung low and barely hanging off his hips, winked at Mac, and headed for his door.

Mac got a towel from the bathroom closet and found Dennis stripped naked in the middle of his bed. He grinned when Mac came in.

Mac cleaned them both up good enough to pass, stripped off his pants, and pressed Dennis into his sheets.

“Can you get this ugly fucking shirt out of my face?” Dennis breathed.

“Don’t insult the shirt, bro,” said Mac. “This was a two-buck hidden treasure at Goodwill.”

“Mac,” he said, all fake brightness, which meant that he was getting annoyed and trying to charm his way out of it before things got physical. “I’d like for you to get rid of the shirt, please.”

Mac frowned, sitting back on his heels. He pulled at the shirt, examining it upside-down.

“What?” he said, while Dennis pushed himself up, scooting closer between Mac’s legs until he could gather Mac in his arms. “You don’t think I look good?”

“You look like a moron,” Dennis assured him, nose brushing up Mac’s neck as he kissed beneath his jaw. “Only a total idiot would stay dressed while he’s got a very gorgeous, very willing naked man in bed with him.”

“I…Oh,” said Mac, realizing.

Dennis was laughing at him when he stripped Mac of the tee and pulled him back in. For a long time they just lay there kissing: Mac’s fingers buried in Dennis’s curls, their bodies tangled together, mixed up with the sheets. Dennis was doing a really great job keeping Mac clutched to him, at least until he curved his hips away enough to skim a hand down between them. He smiled against Mac’s mouth, laughing into him, as he cupped Mac’s cock through his boxers.

“Wait, wait,” said Mac, extricating himself from Dennis’s arms. Dennis frowned, hands grabbing for anything he could reach. He landed on Mac’s arm, rubbing over one of his tattoos.

“Where are you going?” Dennis frowned. “You’ve never turned down a handjob.”

Mac grinned, holding Dennis’s face in his hands and ducking to kiss him again.

“Not turning it down, I swear,” he said, stealing one last kiss. “Just gotta run to the kitchen for a second. I need a water break before we go in again. You can jerk me off when I get back, okay? I really — I want you to.”

Dennis sprawled back on the pillow, flopping down dramatically when Mac released him.

“Oh, could I really?” he said, rolling his eyes.

Mac giggled, climbing off the bed entirely.

“You know you love it,” he retorted. He paused halfway through turning to go, casting Dennis a warning glare, brandishing a finger. Dennis watched him impassively. “Don’t move.”

Dennis arched an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Mac retreat.

“I’m serious,” said Mac. “Don’t move, or else.”

A more heated look came over Dennis’s face. He swallowed.

“Okay,” he said more solemnly, his voice hitching downward.

When he got back, Dennis was knocking his ankles together waiting for him.

“Got what you needed?” he asked.

Mac nodded. He couldn’t stop looking at Dennis’s thighs, even as he hitched his thumbs into his waistband and pulled off his boxers. When he stalked back to the bed, Dennis reached to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, but Mac stopped short of climbing on top of him. A hand slapped down on top of Dennis’s knee. Nails curved into his skin.

“I thought I told you not to move,” he said, low.

Dennis’s hand dropped limply back to the bed.

“I didn’t,” he said. He sounded so earnest, especially with his brow pulling together. Maybe he even thought he was telling the truth.

“Then what’s this?” Mac roughly yanked his legs back apart, and even though Dennis tried to stop himself, Mac could still hear the sharp intake of breath he made before he managed to cut it off. “What do I keep telling you?”

He shoved them even further apart and finally sunk one knee into the mattress, shuffling in between Dennis’s thighs. Dennis made this messy sound, fingers curling into Mac’s shoulder. Mac nudged him up the bed.

“Huh?” he prompted. He shifted with Dennis when he moved, so they never separated for long. Together they made a slow crawl toward the pillows. “Dennis, that was a real question.”

Dennis sighed, head lolling back. Mac hungrily watched his throat bob.

“I look better with my legs spread,” Dennis breathed.

His eyes were closed, face smoothed out and waiting. He looked unbelievable like that, like a painting or something. Just that perfect.

“Damn right,” Mac grunted, and he bent double to bite up his collar. The hand on his leg slid higher, and Dennis’s hips twitched even though his dick was still soft. That was okay, Mac could fix that soon.

“Mac,” he sighed. His hand found the back of Mac’s neck and his fingers pressed tight, but he wasn’t holding his head down. When Mac tired of kissing his neck, Dennis easily opened his mouth to let him in. Dennis right after busting and Dennis getting worked up were two unbelievably pliant versions of himself, and right now he was both. Mac plunged in his tongue, drawing him closer to take and take and take.

Dennis’s knees squeezed around his hips and he squirmed pleasantly. Mac ground into the dip beside his groin, panting into his neck.

Dennis pushed Mac onto his back and resettled on top of him, thighs spread across Mac’s waist. He grinned as he slid his hands over Mac’s chest. Mac gripped Dennis’s hips, lower lip between his teeth.

“God, Dennis.” His knuckles ran up the outsides of Dennis’s thighs, skimming over his waist. Dennis’s hips twitched in a half-aborted grind. “You look so good like this. You should see yourself…”

Dennis rolled his hips again, this time more intently. He split into a savage grin.

“You should put a mirror on the ceiling,” said Dennis. “Right above the bed. Then I could.”

Mac snorted. Feet planted on the mattress, Mac yanked Dennis closer.

“Why?” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to see yourself like that either.”

“What do you mean?” His brow knitted. He scratched at Mac’s pecs, and Mac’s hands slid up to cover his lower back, fingers overlapping on his spine. Dennis tipped forward toward him. “We bang it out in here all the time.”

“No. I know.” He giggled. He smoothed his hands up Dennis’s thighs. “But if your back isn’t to it, then I’m on top of you. It’s not very easy to see, Den.”

Dennis frowned. “But…other people have them. All the time.”

“It must be more for auto…” Mac frowned. “For auto-irrelevant…for aroma…”

“Autoeroticism?” Mac nodded, and Dennis smiled, rocking in his lap. “Oh, yeah. Maybe. But what’s the fun in that?”

“There isn’t any,” said Mac. He sat up, curling an arm around Dennis’s back and hauling him further between his legs. Their noses brushed when Mac shook his head, back and forth. “So stop talking about it.”

Mac kissed him again, deeper, dirtier. Dennis laid a hand against Mac’s cheek, melting into his embrace.

“You know what, Dennis?” Mac nosed along his jaw, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave. “There is _one_ way.”

Dennis sighed. Fingers curled through Mac’s hair.

“Huh?”

“There’s a way for you to see yourself in the mirror.”

“Oh.” Dennis pulled back. Mac watched him, heavy-lidded eyes on his face, until Dennis exhaled and blinked back to the conversation. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, the problem is that I’d be in your way, or your back would be what’s facing the mirror. Right?” said Mac. Dennis nodded slowly. “But what if I were to lay down like this…and then you came over right here — No, like this…Turn over, Dennis, Jesus fucking—”

Mac lay down on the sheets, half-propped on the pillows, and he wrangled Dennis until he was lying down on top of him with his back to his chest. Dennis sucked in a sharp breath. Mac nosed at the back of his neck, hiding a smile there. His hand skimmed down Dennis’s chest, over his stomach.

“If you lay just like this,” Mac breathed, quiet and hot in his ear, “you could see yourself perfectly.” Mac peeked over Dennis’s shoulder, eying the pretend mirror on the ceiling. “Watch yourself as I touched you…Saw your face…”

Dennis gasped softly when Mac’s hand closed around him. He was still mostly soft, and he groaned quietly; Mac nuzzled into the back of his neck, canting up his hips. His cock rubbed against the small of Dennis’s back.

Dennis reached over his shoulder to close his fingers in Mac’s hair.

“What about you?” he groaned. He tugged meaningfully on Mac’s locks. “Are you just gonna rub off on me? When we get it?”

“I can see you just fine from here,” Mac breathed. He turned his face to press kisses into the side of Dennis’s neck. “Actually, if you don’t mind — I could pull you here, and then — Yeah… _Yeah_ …”

He’d pulled Dennis up until his cock was sliding through the crack of his ass. Dennis sucked in a sharp breath. Still fucking shallowly between his cheeks, slow and steady, Mac nibbled on his earlobe.

“Is that okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Dennis sighed.

He fumbled for Mac’s hand, curled over one of his thighs, and threaded their fingers together, palm to the back of Mac’s hand. He brought them down between his legs and together they started to jack Dennis off, clumsy with too many fingers and messy with Dennis’s need. Mac was breathing hard, right in Dennis’s ear.

“Gonna get hard again already for me, baby?” he said. And Dennis was; he sucked in a sharp breath, and Mac laughed softly into his neck. “Fuck. Your ass feels so good. So good. I don’t even have to be inside you—”

Dennis groaned, grinding back on Mac’s cock, then up into their joined fists in a steady rhythm. Mac tightened his grip, jerking him faster.

“Mac,” he gasped. He was nearly hard as before. His back arched, ass rubbing back on Mac’s cock. Mac clutched at his hip, pulling him closer. He panted softly into Dennis’s ear.

The position got uncomfortable after ten minutes of Dennis’s heavy weight sinking into him, but Mac didn’t dream of moving; he loved it, Dennis’s body pressing him into his sheets, picturing how the two of them would look tangled up in their reflections. Mac came just like that, grinding up into the curve of Dennis’s ass, an arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him in place as he rubbed his cock relentlessly into him. Dennis reached back to tug his hair as Mac cried out right beside his ear.

His hips fell back flat to the bed. His panting was less obscene now. Dennis petted clumsily at his hair as best he could from this angle.

Still breathing hard, Mac turned to brush kisses up the curve of Dennis’s shoulder. The arm clutching his waist unwound so he could squeeze Dennis’s cock again, jumping back into rhythm so suddenly that Dennis made a sound like a lovechild between a hiccup and gasp, surprised. His fingers curled into the sheets. He appeared to have lost all ability to hold up his own head as it lolled back, heavy on Mac’s shoulder like he’d had his strings cut.

“Open your eyes, baby,” Mac whispered. “Look up. You wanted to see yourself in the mirror, right?”

Dennis gripped his arm, nails sharp as they dug into his skin. “Mac…”

“Don’t you see how beautiful you look?” Mac said.

“ _We_ look,” Dennis gasped. “Together.”

Mac nodded, noncommittal, hiding his face in Dennis’s neck.

“Sure,” he said. “Right. But seeing the faces you make for me, God…Look at yourself, Den. You want it so bad. You’re so hot, honey, I’m just glad you can see it now.”

“I’ve seen myself having sex before,” Dennis argued. His voice was all high and tight, close to the edge and halfway out of his mind.

“In real time, though, not just on the tapes.” Mac huffed a laugh, sinking his teeth into Dennis’s shoulder. “Fuck, come on, I can feel how bad you want it—”

“Mac,” he gasped — and that was it, all he had time to say before he was jerking his hips up into Mac’s grip and coming all over his hand, all over his own thighs. Mac peppered kisses into the damp curve of his neck and didn’t stop touching him until Dennis pushed him off, and he rolled over onto his stomach with a huff. Mac had to catch his breath, too. He flicked a smile at the mess of hair buried in his pillows.

His heartrate took a long time to slow, but eventually Mac got up to clean things up. As soon as he knelt back on the bed, Dennis grabbed his hand and pulled him down.

Mac didn’t release him as he settled comfortably into bed. Dennis turned his cheek so they were facing each other. They just lay in silence for a long time, watching each other. Mac was hypnotized by his breathing, and by a patch of freckles — or maybe it was sun damage — climbing toward his neck.

Mac’s thumb run over Dennis’s knuckles. It was to them, and not Dennis’s face, that he eventually asked, “Do you wear women’s underwear a lot?”

No answer. When Mac glanced up, he expected some sort of blank or defensive stare — but Dennis was smiling.

“Sometimes. I have another silk pair and a few thongs in my laundry at home. Why?” he said. He squeezed Mac’s fingers, his smile curling bigger. “Do you like it?”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Do I like it, he’s wondering,” he deadpanned to the ceiling.

He yanked suddenly on Dennis’s hand, and Dennis was laughing when he folded into Mac and bent eagerly into the kiss. Mac framed his face with his free hand, just watching him for a couple of seconds until Dennis started to redden.

“Yeah, I like it,” said Mac, ducking up to plant more kisses on his mouth. “I always like what you wear for me, Dennis.”

His forehead creased. An indignant frown overtook his red lips, but it didn’t make him look any less kissable. Mac curved an arm around his neck, drawing him closer.

“I don’t wear anything for you. I wear things for myself,” said Dennis.

“Well, then buy yourself a couple more.” Mac’s arm slid down around his waist, and he rolled them onto their sides so he could shift down the bed and press his cheek to Dennis’s chest. His eyes closed. A moment later, he felt a hand settle into his hair. “I mean, you always look sexy, but — Yeah.”

Dennis said nothing for a few minutes, and Mac considered the matter settled. He was geared up for a good mid-afternoon nap, the kind that had a tendency to last several hours and leave you very disoriented when you woke up, when he heard Dennis murmur, “Okay.”

“Do you still want the mirror?” Mac asked, muffled against Dennis’s chest.

Dennis laughed.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said. “Definitely adding that to my Amazon cart.”

Mac snorted. Dennis squeezed him tighter.

Between that and Dennis’s warmth enveloping him all over, he could hardly be blamed for the dreams he had. Mostly involving the sun, and a warm vacation, and Dennis’s hands in his.

When he woke, the rain was still tapping relentlessly at the window, and Dennis was sitting up on the other side of the bed, the curtain drawn and the lamp turned on, his reading glasses settled on his nose while he squinted at his laptop screen. Mac muffled a groan and rolled over until his cheek smushed into Dennis’s thigh. Dennis startled and looked down, bemused; a moment later his fingers settled into Mac’s hair and began gently massaging.

“Wh’ time is it?” Mac groaned. His eyes kept falling shut. He couldn’t help it.

The rain was still tapping relentlessly against the window, and the sky outside was dark. Dennis dragged through his hair again, getting deep, down to the roots.

“Just past five in the morning,” he said in a hoarse voice, like he was tired but couldn’t fall asleep. His relentless insomnia always struck at the worst times, like when Mac wanted to sleep for two days straight through a hurricane. “You’ve been sleeping for awhile. I ordered dinner _and_ watched a movie with Charlie and Dee last night, and still had time for nap before getting up to get some work done.”

“Hmmph,” Mac said into his leg. If Dennis was trying to make him wish he’d been up for that, he was doing a poor job; Mac did that exact thing with Charlie nearly every single day, minus waking in the middle of the night.

The soft snick of the laptop closing snagged his attention. Mac blinked sleepily at him when Dennis nudged him off, but he only slid down the bed and gathered Mac into his arms. Mac laid his head and a hand both on Dennis’s chest, struggling to stay awake.

“You shouldn’t be up,” said Dennis. Mac heard something clatter softly to the endtable, and the light flicked off. “Don’t you have any common courtesy at all, you bastard? Between the hours of three and seven a.m., that’s my Me Time.”

“S’not my fault,” said Mac. He rubbed one eye. “You were being loud.”

“I was being _loud_?” Dennis said, sounding equal parts amused and bewildered. “What, I was typing emails too aggressive?”

“Yuh.”

Dennis sighed, resettling Mac in his embrace.

“Can you not lay on me with your mouth open?” Dennis said after a minute or so, just before Mac successfully passed back out. He swam painstakingly back toward consciousness. “You’re going to drool on me. It’s disgusting.”

Grumbling, Mac shuffled over and laid his cheek on Dennis’s pillow instead, so near to his shoulder that his lips brushed Dennis’s bare skin. Dennis rolled onto his side to curl his calf through Mac’s, to wind an arm around his waist. Mac pressed his face closer.

Dennis cradled the back of his head, long sweeping strokes down from his crown. That, he didn’t mind; but the thrum of the fingers on his other hand tapping against Mac’s waist was a little more distracting, kept him from falling back asleep every time he got close. He could tell that Dennis was bored.

Sure enough, after just a few minutes, Dennis said, “Did you want to do anything in particular today?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “No plans before eleven.”

“ _Eleven_?”

“M’tired, Dennis. Eleven.”

Fingers brushed through his hair. Dennis hummed thoughtfully.

“We should think about adjusting your sleep schedule,” said Dennis. “Your circadian rhythm is abysmal.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Because you barely passed tenth grade, baby,” Dennis said, voice sweet.

Mac sighed and pushed himself up. Dennis watched him in silence, splayed out on the pillows.

“Are you gonna let me fall back asleep?” said Mac.

Dennis smiled.

“Probably not,” he said, blissful and entirely unapologetic. “Do you want to cook breakfast in a little while?”

“Dennis,” he whined, turning and lying down directly on top of him. Dennis laughed and just opened his arms to accept Mac’s weight. “I’m not cooking for you at fucking five a.m. Wait until I wake up for real.”

“You’re awake,” he said, prodding at the soft padding around Mac’s hips. “Come on, you’ve been asleep for like twelve hours. I’m feeling waffles.”

“Go to the diner down the street.”

“They’re closed, ‘cause of the hurricane,” he said. “Mac.”

“Shut up.” It came out muffled against Dennis’s chest.

In the quiet of his room, unbroken only by the relentless rain against the glass, Dennis’s rumbling stomach was unignorable. Muttering expletives, Mac nestled his head further into the curve of Dennis’s neck. His arms squeezed around his sides.

“See?” said Dennis. “It’s biology, Mac. I need sustenance, or I’ll die.”

“ _Please_ , Dennis. Just five more minutes.” Which they both know would turn into five more hours.

“Is that what you want?” he wheedled. “You want me to die?”

“Shut up,” said Mac, shuffling onto his knees. Glaring, he slapped a hand down over Dennis’s mouth. “For the love of _God_ , baby, shut _up_. If you have to die before for that to happen, fine!”

Dennis bit his hand, too hard to be playful, and was laughing when Mac yanked away from him with a shout.

“Asshole.”

Mac settled onto his side of the bed, crossing his arms. Dennis was still giggling, and he pressed into Mac’s side. He ducked to dot kisses on Mac’s shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Mac let Dennis grab his hand — they lapsed into silence, and Dennis began to play with his fingers.

Mac watched the side of his face. He liked seeing Dennis in the middle of the night: He wore too much makeup during the day, not that it looked _bad_. Mac just liked seeing him bare, in every sense of the word. He looked younger and realer and more human. He was glad, all of a sudden, that they were stuck inside in the middle of a hurricane. He was lucky that they’d be trapped together — them and each of their best friends — for the foreseeable future, or at least for the next few days. According to the weather reports.

And he was glad — really, _really_ glad — that Dennis was spending his lockdown here, instead of anywhere else.

“Hey. Dennis?”

Dennis hummed. His fingers closed over Mac’s, stopping messing with them to hold his hand still.

“Den?” he prompted.

Dennis turned his face up slowly, blank.

“Hmm?”

Mac squeezed his hand. “Are you seeing anybody else?”

His heart thumped steadily. His gaze tracked across Dennis’s face, studying him; Dennis’s lips parted.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked. His voice was so calm and flat as to give nothing away; Mac squinted at him, unable to suss out what that meant. “Are you still drunk?” Dennis’s expression shuttered over. He withdrew his hand from Mac’s, and, more measuredly, voice serious and nearly ice, Dennis said, “Are _you_ seeing someone?”

Mac blinked. The palm that Dennis had just been touching felt cold in his absence.

“What?” said Mac. “But I—”

“Do I know him?” Dennis asked swiftly. He pushed himself up so he was sitting again, back at eye level. “How often do you go over there? I can’t imagine it’s very often, because you spend most of your free time at my house. Unless you’ve been lying to me about your work schedule? Still, you sleep over with me — at least four times a week. Or else I come here. But I can’t imagine he’s very good in bed, if you keep on crawling back to me instead—”

“Jesus, Dennis! Take a breath!” Mac pushed him down to the bed by the shoulders. Dennis glared up at him, face red, nostrils flaring. When he calmed a little, Mac backed off, rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack.”

Dennis scowled.

“You didn’t answer my question, I notice,” he said stiffly.

“Christ. I asked _you_ ,” said Mac. “Whatever. Dennis, I’m not seeing anyone else! I’m just asking. You know. If you are.”

He frowned, growing shifty. Dennis blinked at him.

“Oh,” he said. After a stilted moment, his tense expression melted. His cheeks pinked again, though he looked much shiftier now.

When he didn’t say anything else, Mac started pouting. He fidgeted, moving back onto his side of the bed and drawing his knees up to his chest.

“If you don’t want to tell me—”

“I’m not,” said Dennis, propping himself up on one elbow. Mac looked at him — Hesitant, Dennis reached out and touched his knee. His eyes were wide, sincere and innocent. “Mac, I’m not.”

“Oh.” Mac’s gaze flickered away. He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Oh. Okay.”

Dennis’s hand on his leg was suddenly burning his skin. Dennis let out a quiet little laugh, squeezing Mac’s knee. His touch crept a little ways up his thigh.

“Mac?”

Mac jumped out of his own head, his attention magnetized to Dennis, who was wearing a small, nervous smile.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what?”

“Mac, I think…” Dennis licked his lips. “I think you’re supposed to come over here, now. You know. I think that’s how it goes.”

“What?” said Mac. “Oh, because you’re my boyfriend. Right. I’m sorry.”

Dennis gave a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. Before Mac could ask why, and before Dennis could give voice to the undoubtedly biting thoughts clouding his mind, Mac grabbed the hand on his knee, squeezed. He cupped Dennis’s jaw and ducked in to kiss him.

Dennis wound his fingers through the hair at the back of Mac’s head and gripped tight. Together, they lay down on their sides, mouths never parting as they moved against each other softly. Mac ran his hands up Dennis’s sides, smoothing his palms up over his ribcage. Dennis squirmed closer, biting Mac’s lip, smiling into the kiss.

That was Dennis, grinning on his mouth. That was his boyfriend. Because apparently, Mac’s luck just didn’t run out.

“Mac,” he sighed. Christ, even the way he whispered Mac’s name was perfect.

Mac pulled him in closer, squeezing his waist. He touched the side of Dennis’s face.

“I’ll make you waffles, baby boy,” Mac murmured between more kisses. He tipped his head to the side, clutching him closer for more, and hungrily. Dennis squirmed, nails digging into his back. “I’ll make you whatever you want. If you _really_ want me to. Are you hungry right now, or can you wait an hour?”

And Dennis — his _boyfriend_ — split into a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dennis's poetry is NOT reflective of my writing ability
> 
> if you're actually interested in what den's flower choices mean, i guess i'll post the list i've been going off of in the last chapter. i intended to write it into this chapter but then it turns out there were way more flowers than initially anticipated lol
> 
> [tumblr here, i love the bad men](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/188530409300)


	10. like daylight

Spring came early that year, and South Philly Florist experienced its usual post-winter boon. Brimming with extra cash and good spirits, Dennis brought home enough flowers to refill the dead garden and then some. He said it would be good to have backups for when Mac inevitably killed everything again, but Mac put the extra bouquets in vases around the mansion anyway.

Dennis slipped a spare pair of Ray-Bans onto Mac’s nose, only poking him in the ear a little bit. Mac grinned.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Dennis ducked in for a brief kiss before he pulled back, slapping Mac playfully on the ass as he pulled away. Mac whipped around, glaring. Dennis just laughed, and they went back to work.

“Are you almost done?” Dennis called a little while later. Mac looked up to find him already dispensing of his gloves although he hadn’t finished setting the compost heap back up for the new season like he was supposed to. Dennis shielded his eyes from the waning sun and said, “It’s nearly four. People are gonna be here in, like, an hour.”

“They’re not getting here until six,” Mac reminded him patiently. “I just have to finish up this one little thing.”

“Mac…I need to get ready.”

“No one’s stopping you,” he said dismissively, already turning back to the Queen Anne’s lace he was patting into the dirt.

A minute later, he heard the sliding glass slam and rolled his eyes. Dennis could be so _dramatic_.

But no, he hadn’t abandoned Mac for a shower after all; Dennis reappeared a few minutes later, bearing the pitcher of lemonade they’d made earlier. Mac looked up the miles from his filthy jeans up to his face, nose smudged with dirt, and paused.

“Oh,” he said, getting up from his crouch. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.” Dennis brushed some dirt from the shoulder of Mac’s open flannel.

Mac kept an eye on him as he drank straight from the pitcher.

“Break time?” Dennis asked hopefully, once Mac put down the lemonade.

Mac rolled his eyes.

Dennis laughed when Mac ducked swiftly to scoop his legs out from underneath him. It was always a fifty-fifty shot if either of them had the reflexes to stay upright, but that’s part of what made it such a good response to Dennis being a brat.

This time Dennis got his arms around Mac’s neck in time not to land on his back, but Mac stumbled a bit, overcompensating as he whipped upright. Dennis made an irritated sound. He tugged on a lock of Mac’s hair.

“Don’t drop me, you little shit.”

“Ouch! Jesus, Dennis. I didn’t drop you.”

He did more or less throw him onto the hammock when he got over there, though. Dennis was laughing again.

The hammock was also a recent development, and one of Dennis’s clear favorites: Mac had only finished building it in March, although there had been several failed iterations of the design beforehand. In the beginning, it was supposed to be a sex swing. All he really succeeded in doing was ripping out chunks of the bedroom ceiling.

Mac studied it over, hands on his hips as he looked on proudly. He had built this, mostly by himself. And he did like seeing Dennis smile.

Presently, Dennis had gotten the hammock rocking back and forth in a far enough arc that he could reach the edges of the garden when he leaned over the side. He snagged a bush, yanking a flower off its stem just before he went swinging in the other direction. Mac pulled the net hard to a stop — for just long enough to climb on too, rolling over until he crashed into Dennis’s side. Dennis shoved him over only to then prop himself up on one elbow, yank off Mac’s hat, and tuck the plucked red carnation behind Mac’s ear.

Hammocks, inherently unstable: Dennis had about two seconds of staying upright before he went crashing down on Mac’s chest. Mac poked him in the stomach hard.

It took some maneuvering, but eventually they shuffled into a comfortable position for them both, with Dennis lying on his chest. Mac hadn’t realized how tired he was until suddenly he was lying down; working took a lot out of him. In just a few minutes, he found himself dozing — vaguely he could feel Dennis playing with one flap of his flannel, though it frankly did more for helping him drift than it did to keep him conscious.

When Mac woke up, the sun had changed just enough to be perceptible, and Dennis was snoring quietly into his neck. Blinking away the sun, Mac blindly found Dennis’s hand and lifted it up to his face, close enough to read _4:49_ flashing back at him from Dennis’s wristwatch.

“Oh shit.” Mac rubbed one eye. Dennis was going to be pissed off when he realized Mac let him sleep so late. Mac shook him by the shoulder. “Dennis. Dennis, wake up.”

“Humph.”

Dennis rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his face.

“Dennis,” he tried again. “Time to get up, we only have an hour.”

“Huh?” Dennis mumbled. Louder, he said, “What?!” and jolted upright. “Huh? What time is it?”

Mac grimaced, bracing. “Ten to five.”

“What?” he yelped. “Why’d you let me sleep so late? Goddamn it, Mac! Fuck! I’m not gonna have time to get ready!”

He swung his legs off the hammock and stumbled to his feet. Mac sat up too, frowning after him.

“You don’t have to get dressed,” he tried feebly. “We’re going swimming.”

Dennis threw him a dirty look over his shoulder and stalked toward the house.

With a sigh, Mac cleared the remnants of their gardening from the backyard. When he got upstairs, Dennis was stepping out of the shower right as Mac shrugged into the bathroom, stripping as he went.

“Hurry up,” said Dennis. He sounded calmer, harried about the time but no longer raging over Mac’s transgression. “I need you downstairs to help me set up ASAP.”

By the time he came down, Dennis had set the picnic table and was messing with the gas on the grill. Mac pushed him to the side, snapping, “Christ, get away from there before you burn down your yard. We’re not even making dinner yet! Go get snacks.”

In lieu of their usual monthly anniversary plans, wherein they typically splurged on a very expensive date, this time they’d decided to invite over their friends and do something simultaneously bigger and more intimate instead. Their monthly anniversaries were important to him; he wasn’t going to ruin it by letting Dennis set anything on fire that wasn’t supposed to be.

Dennis was freaking out more than necessary, honestly. They still had twenty minutes before their barbecue technically started, and really, Dennis was just an idiot if he thought that their friends were going to be on time.

He helped Dennis set the table and did a quick scan of the yard to check if anything else needed tending to while Dennis went to grab the pitcher of watermelon drink he’d blended up earlier.

The backyard looked good. Surprisingly good, like they were actually put together or something. Mac’s attention lingered proudly on his garden for a minute, feeling like it really pulled the entire soiree together, when he felt arms slipping around his waist. Dennis propped his chin on his shoulder, pressed himself into Mac’s back.

“I think we’re all set,” he said, swaying them gently from side to side.

“Told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come here.”

Dennis turned him around and took his face in his hands, brushing the softest kiss against his lips. Mac hugged his waist.

“I love you,” Mac said.

Dennis studied his face for a moment, brow furrowed like he was concentrating.

“I love you too,” he said seriously. He patted at Mac’s shirt, making it lay flatter on his shoulders. Looking back at him from so close, Mac saw the exact moment his expression split down the middle: He gaped in horror. “Oh, shit! I forgot to get the stuff for the s’mores! Mac! Shit!”

“It’s fine,” he promised, rubbing Dennis’s arms. “It’s fine, Dennis, no one cares—”

“We were supposed to make them when it gets dark,” Dennis said. “Do me a favor — Run to the store for me really quick? Please, before they get here?”

Mac let him go with a sigh. “Alright, alright.”

Dennis crossed his arms, looking smug.

“Good.”

“I’m borrowing your car,” Mac called over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Don’t you dare touch my car,” said Dennis. “Mac—”

“I’ll be careful!” Mac lied. He broke out into a jog and had crossed the yard before Dennis could stop him.

The sun was streaking its way across the sky when Mac pulled back into the driveway; it would begin to set in an hour or so. He could hear laughter coming from the backyard and cursed — Dennis was going to be mad that guests got here before him.

But Dennis didn’t seem _too_ upset — he spread his arms when he saw Mac across the yard, calling, “There he is! Speak of the devil.”

“Hi. Hi guys,” Mac said, shuffling around the five or so people who’d actually been willing to show up. He had a sneaking suspicion that several of them — Artemis and one of Dennis’s shitty college buddies, for example — were only here for free food, while the rest probably came just to swim in the pool. Charlie, most likely, was here for both — same with Dee, even though she lived here too. She loved acting more like a guest than a host, and lately she _loved_ staying over at her girlfriend’s place whenever she could. “Hi. Sorry I’m late, I had to run to the—”

Dennis wrapped an arm around his shoulders the second he got close enough, yanking him into his side.

“It’s fine, sweetie,” Dennis said through gritted teeth and a very, very forced smile. “Can you please check on the stereo? The music won’t play.”

So, a little mad. Nothing unmanageable. Mac slipped an arm around Dennis’s waist, squeezing him gently.

“No problem. I’m on it.” He gave Dennis a short kiss before he went.

The get-together was good. By the time the first blender-full of Dennis’s watermelon concoction was drained, everyone was chatting freely and spiritedly as though a pretty good buzz was going around. Mac started flipping burgers after the second pitcher was halfway drained, watching everyone play around in the yard together and cloaked in his favorite _Kiss the cook — I’m Irish!_ apron. Charlie and some guy named Schmitty were full-on wrestling on the lawn, and from Mac’s point of view they didn’t seem to be playing. Dee and her girlfriend — Mac could never remember that chick’s name, Charla or Charlize or something like that, she waited tables down at Oldies Rock Café — appeared to be trying to drown each other in the deep end of the pool, although they kept pausing to make out so maybe it wasn’t as serious as it looked.

From halfway across the yard, Dennis called out, “Cannonball, bitches!” and took a running start, propelling himself in right next to Dee and her waitress. They screamed, and Dee starting attacking Dennis as soon as he surfaced. Dennis laughed and pushed her head underwater.

Grinning, Mac flipped the burgers over and started assembling buns on a platter.

“Food’s done in ten minutes,” he called.

Everyone looked around — including Dennis, who caught Mac’s eye and just as swiftly looked away. Mac smiled.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, making a start toward the water. “Dennis, come on! Come out! You gotta do what the apron says.”

Dennis sunk down under the surface, half his face still in the open air. He blew some petulant bubbles.

“Mac, no.”

“Dennis...”

“No!” he said, louder. “It’s cold when I get out.”

“Come over here!” Mac nearly stomped his foot.

Scowling, shivering, and looking significantly more like a disgruntled cat than a grown man, Dennis heaved himself up out of the pool. He was still sopping wet when he got to Mac, who nonetheless eagerly took him in his arms to kiss him. The front of his shirt was getting soaked. After a second he pushed Dennis away.

“No way.” Now Dennis was the one grinning, brushing their noses together and keeping Mac clutched insistently to him. “You make me come kiss you every single goddamn time you catch me looking. You have to live with the consequences.”

“Only when I have the apron,” said Mac. He plucked at one of the strings tying it round his neck. “Gotta do what it says.”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Yes, because last time I refused, you threw our whole dinner onto the _lawn_.”

“That…doesn’t sound right to me.” Mac shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you tipped the steak off the grill.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dennis warned.

He yanked Mac in and planted another long kiss to his mouth. Just as Mac was starting to relax into it, hands spreading across Dennis’s back, Dennis pulled away. Mac blinked.

“Finish making my dinner,” Dennis said. A little smirk played on his lips, and before Mac could bite back, Dennis had turned and was sprinting across the yard, calling, “Don’t start without me!” right before doing a spectacular belly flop off the diving board. He came up again a few seconds later, spluttering.

Everyone gathered around the table when Mac set down dinner. Dennis put a beer bottle in front of him, kissing his cheek and taking a seat at the head of the table. He was still undressed in his swimming things, a towel slung around his neck and his hair a veritable disaster. Mac squeezed his knee.

“Can you pass me the mustard?” Dennis said. He snapped his fingers in Mac’s face, who startled out of his conversation with Charlie. “Baby.”

“Yeah! Sorry.”

Dennis caught his hand under the table and squeezed. They didn’t let go all meal.

After everyone had eaten enough, they left the table in a mess and — probably from drinking all evening, and the night winding down, and the lure of the inherent luxury in late night swims — they all ended up in the pool.

Dee was lounging on Dennis’s favorite float, sipping a beer and arguing happily with Dennis about the proper way to mix his watermelon vodka blend. Once Charlie’s huge canonnballs over in the deep end made water go up Mac’s nose one too many times, it stopped being much fun to watch. Mac made a lazy breaststroke over to the twins instead.

He wrapped his arms around Dennis’s waist, molding himself to his back and pressing his nose into his neck.

“Which you would _know_ , if you ever got up off your ass and actually learned shit instead of always Googling the — Oh! Hi, Mac,” he said, briefly turning to graze his lips to the edge of Mac’s chin. “Anyway, Dee, like I was saying. If you bothered to keep any information in that empty skull of yours, you, too, would have successful dinner parties.”

With a roll of her eyes, Dee splashed him lightly. Right in the face.

“Shut up, dillhole,” she said. “What do _you_ know about dinner parties? Mac hosted most of it!”

“Leave me out of it,” said Mac, nuzzling Dennis’s neck before propping his chin on his shoulder to watch her, eyes big.

“Yeah,” said Dennis, patting Mac’s hand where it was fastened around his waist. “I could out-bartend you any day of the week.”

Dee looked him over. “You’re on.”

Which, naturally, meant they began discussing organizing a little competition later in the week. Mac swiftly bored of listening to them bicker.

He was planting kisses back and forth across Dennis’s shoulder when they got done finalizing all the details of their wager; when Dennis turned around in his arms, Mac pressed one last kiss to the side of his neck and raised his face.

“How’s your night?” Dennis asked, dragging his fingers through Mac’s wet hair. After he’d slicked it back plenty, he wrapped his arms around Mac’s waist too, fingers steepling in the small of his back.

“Good,” said Mac. “When is everyone leaving?”

Dennis grinned. “What, tired already? It’s only ten.”

“I’m not tired,” Mac lied. He blinked slowly, fighting the urge to rest his head on Dennis’s shoulder. He laid his hand to Dennis’s cheek instead, thumb stroking softly along under one eye. “I wanna go celebrate with you.”

Dennis’s smile got wicked.

“We _are_ celebrating, Mac,” he said, tone all innocent — but he pressed himself to Mac’s body too, hands slipping up his chest to wind around his neck. “That’s what this whole party is for.”

Mac giggled, teeth sunk into his lower lip.

“Dennis!”

Dennis kissed him. Before Mac could really get lost in it, though, it was already over. Mac knocked their foreheads together.

“I’ll kick everybody out at eleven, okay?” said Dennis. “I think Charlie and Schmitty agreed to a no-holds-barred cage match, and I wanna see how that plays out. Besides, we still have to do s’mores!”

Mac frowned. “But I want—”

“I know.” Dennis stroked his hair. “I know, baby, I know. But we’ll have…all…night.” He kept kissing Mac in between words.

“Okay,” he relented, still frowning. “But you’d better _really_ be ready to be up all night. I mean it.”

Dennis grinned.

“One hour,” he promised, mouth hovering close. Mac had rarely seen him look so soft, eyes tracking all over Mac’s face. “Happy anniversary, Mac.”

Mac sighed, giving in for just a second and laying his head on Dennis’s shoulder. Mouth nearly pressed to his neck, he breathed, “Happy anniversary, angel.”

The bell over the door tinkled, but Mac didn’t turn to see who had just come to interrupt his and Dennis’s spirited conversation/argument about who was the protagonist in Home Alone. Dennis was weirdly transfixed on rooting for the parents who forgot about their kid.

But even as Mac kicked his feet, heels knocking the counter he was sitting on, and getting ready for a long debate, Dennis was turning away.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” he called to the customer.

Mac rolled his eyes. The woman started discussing the benefits of peonies over chrysanthemums with Dennis, who gleefully launched into a laundry list of reasons why she was an idiot; Mac examined his cuticles for about a minute, thinking about how pissed he was that Dennis got him hooked on self-care because now he was all obsessed with going home and using Dennis’s cuticle cream like some stupid chick.

Dennis was still talking to that woman. Mac rolled his head back, sighing loudly, and Dennis cut him a look.

“Which is why we generally don’t sell it that way,” Dennis told her, his voice just a touch more controlled than before. “I’m happy to take you around and help you look for something else, if you’d like.”

He cast her one of his bright, fake customer service smiles. Usually Mac thought it was hilarious that he tried so hard. Today he just wanted this woman to fuck off.

“No he won’t,” Mac butted in to tell the lady. She looked over at him, eyebrows raised in polite consideration. Dennis’s gaze snapped over too, but it looked much meaner. “He only does his fake helpful schtick when he’s trying to flirt with me. You’re on your own.”

“Mac—” He sounded furious.

“I…Oh,” said the woman.

“He’s joking,” Dennis said fiercely, putting a hand out to her. “He thinks he’s so funny. I can help you.”

He started to move out from behind the counter.

“He doesn’t really know anything about gardening,” Mac lied gleefully. If Dennis was going to ignore him, he could at least make up his own fun. “He doesn’t even work here, the shop girl’s just taking her break and he decided to stand there.”

“What are you talking about! Mac,” Dennis yelped. He tugged on his elbow. “May I speak with you, please?”

“No thanks.” Mac hopped off the counter. “I’m gonna get lunch, do you want anything?”

“Yes! I want you to go to the Wawa, and then I want you to stay there until you’ve decided to stop making shit up!” Breathing through his nose how he did when he was trying not to scream, he turned back to the woman, who looked very startled and confused. “Please ignore him, he just has too much free _time_ because he spends his days squatting in my yard instead of getting a real job.”

Mac turned around to stick out his tongue before he reached the door.

The woman was gone by the time he got back with cheesesteaks, the really full greasy ones from the place on the corner that Dennis always insisted had too much trans-fat and far too much cheese, but which he always devoured with vigor, and usually tried to pick at Mac’s, too, if he was eating too slow. The customer had been replaced by a small cluster of people, who all seemed to know each other and who were laughing and chatting loudly from all around the store. Mac frowned at a girl with a terrible mohawk, jet black and dyed blue at the tips, as he edged around her to get behind the counter.

Dennis was helping one of the guys by the roses, brow furrowed as he discussed something. Mac watched him while he unwrapped their lunch and spread it out on the counter. Whatever he was talking about, he looked deadly serious; Mac smiled to himself. Dennis looked very cute when he got like this — all intent on his work and serious about his job and shit. Mac couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

The mohawk girl came over and wrapped her knuckles on the counter.

“Hey,” she said, jerking her chin. “You work here?”

“No, I’m just here to distract my boyfriend.” Mac pointed him out where he was now plucking white and red roses out of a bunch.

“Oh.” The girl didn’t move. “Do you know anything about how to take care of this shit?”

“Maybe. Why?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, they just keep dying on me, man. I don’t get what I’m doing wrong. I downloaded this, like, big list off Google of what to do, but I think I’m overwatering them or something because _nothing_ is working.”

“Some plants don’t need water at all,” Mac told her. He’d never watered dandelions once in his life, yet they kept cropping up in the yard. So it must be true. “What kind of flowers do you have?”

“I’ve tried everything!” she said. “Daisies, irises, aster, orchids—”

“Are they indoors or outdoors?” Mac asked, eyebrows knitting; he was beginning to get serious about this. Dennis touched his waist as he appeared behind the counter and squeezed past him. “Because that shit, like, totally changes what kinda care you need to give.”

“They’re indoors,” she said.

Dennis propped his elbows on the counter as he munched into his sandwich, watching the two of them like a tennis match.

“Try that one,” said Mac, pointing a little ways to the wall. “That’s what Dennis used when he was teaching me how to garden.”

“Um, okay.” She paused, half-turned to go. “I don’t know who Dennis is. He know his shit?”

“He’s the sexy florist I go to when my boyfriend isn’t looking.”

“Hey.” Dennis reached out and pinched him in the side. Mac twisted away with a laugh.

“Anyways, so you want to get one of those and then, um, leave it away from the window so it has a growth spurt when you finally put it in the sun,” said Mac. There had to be _some_ reason that indoor plants were different than outdoor ones; maybe the amount of sunlight is what did it. His garden really liked the sun. “And then, um, you have to feed it.”

“Okay. Feed it what?”

“I don’t know.” Mac shrugged. He didn’t know what was in that formula Dennis used. All he knew was how much and how often to spritz stuff. “Maybe crumble up some granola or something?”

The girl gave a shrug and a nod, and she went to go examine the wall where Mac was pointing. Smiling — proud of his good work — Mac grabbed his cheesesteak and settled back in to eat. He cast a sideways glance at Dennis and paused.

Dennis was just watching him, still eating his lunch. A small smile played at his lips.

“What?” asked Mac.

Dennis shook his head, chuckling. He put down his food.

“Nothing,” he said, wiping his hands clean with a napkin. “You’re so cute. Come here.”

Too confused to move at first, Mac was still holding his food when Dennis took his shoulder and turned him around enough to kiss. He landed a little bit off, his lips only halfway on Mac’s at first — Mac made a small, surprised sound, still chewing his last bite. Dennis pulled back, looking at him softly. He wiped sauce off Mac’s cheek with his thumb, took him by the cheek, and kissed him fully on the mouth.

Mac stood there, doing nothing, still holding the cheesesteak in his hands. They shared a long, warm look.

“Can you help me bring out more tulips from the back?” he asked.

Mac smiled. “Of course, baby. Just let me finish my lunch first.”

Dennis’s eyes narrowed.

“Five minutes,” he decreed.

When they’d cleaned up, Mac found himself back in inventory while Dennis piled bundle after bundle into his arms. They split them up to put one after another back in their proper places out front.

He could feel Dennis smiling at him now and then out of the corner of his eye. He turned at just the right moment when tucking away a red one, gazes locking for a second before they went back to work. Dennis gave a warm little smile.

Mac smiled at him too, and they went back to setting up flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank uuuuuuu everyone who got this far! ❤️  
> as promised, here's an uncensored list i was working off of for the flower meanings:
> 
> • Gardenias—secret love, joy  
> • Daisy—loyal love, innocence/purity  
> • White heather—protection & wishes will come true; lavender = admiration/solitude/beauty  
> • Hyacinth— blue is constancy, purple is sorrow, red/pink is play, white is loveliness, yellow is jealousy  
> • Hydrangea—heartfelt emotions, gratitude for being understood  
> • Iris—purple is wisdom/compliments, blue is faith/hope, yellow is passion, white is purity  
> • Purple lilac is first love  
> • Lily—orange is passion, yellow is gaiety  
> • Peony – bashfulness & compression, happy life/marriage  
> • Queen annes lace—haven/sanctuary, complexity and delicateness  
> • Rose—love, different meanings for diff colors  
> • Stock—lasting beauty, happy life, bonds of affection  
> • Sunflower—pure thoughts, dedicated love, adoration  
> • Sweet pea—delicate pleasure & bliss, symbolic of departure after having a good time  
> • Tulip—delciaration of love, perfect love  
> • Canrations—diff colors mena diff things, pink is gratitude & red is strength/commitment  
> • Blue bellflower—humility & reverence (better for mac to give him?)  
> • Bue orchid – very rare, strength & virility, beauty perfection opulence luxury
> 
> sources: [x](https://bouqs.com/blog/plant-flowers-old-bouquet/) [x](https://mdsflorist.com/arcadia-florist-flower-delivery/) [x](https://www.flowershopping.com/FlowerMeanings/)
> 
> i'm [lesbianfreyja on tumblr](https://lesbianfreyja.tumblr.com/post/189349744360), and sadly, i do still love the bad men. ❤️💐


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